Odds and Ends
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Assorted drabbles and oneshots that don't fit anywhere else.:: 1. Piers attends Dudley's funeral.
1. One Day At a Time (Piers)

_Word Count: 752_

* * *

Piers hasn't been to a funeral since his parents'. He hadn't cried for them, but he cries now. There is no noise, no commotion; silent tears sting his eyes as they streak his cheeks.

Max is by his side. Piers doesn't know what he would do without his cousin-turned-guardian. Not just in terms of the funeral, but in general. Max saved him, and Piers can't imagine where he would be now it Max hadn't taken him in.

"Let it out," Max says softly, affectionately ruffling Piers' dark hair.

Piers sniffles, wiping his eyes. "It isn't supposed to be like this," he whispers. "Dudley… Dudley is…"

_Not is, _he thinks, and the realization feels like a blade sinking into his heart. _Was. Dudley was._

But Piers can't bring himself to refer to Dudley in the past tense. He refuses to acknowledge that Dudley is gone, not when Dudley has always been so full of life. It is neither right nor fair.

His cousin wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. Piers sniffles again.

He doesn't know what happened. After disappearing for nearly a year, Dudley and his parents came back. Well, they came back physically. None of them seemed the same, but Dudley was the worst. There was something in his blue eyes that bothered Piers. His oldest friend, the boy he knew better than anyone looked haunted, like he could no longer outrun his demons.

Dudley started drinking after that. It had been normal at first. The two of them would hang out and crack open a few beers. They would drink and laughs and talk about life.

But then it happened. Piers doesn't know what _it _was, but he knows it changed Dudley. The light would diminish from his friend's eyes, and Dudley would go off on some tangent about war and darkness. He would never tell Piers any details, only that he still had nightmares.

Then he would drink a little more. That's when it stopped being fun. Dudley wasn't trying to distract himself; there was something inside of him that he was trying to kill.

In the end, Dudley succeeded. Piers heard his blood alcohol level was off the chart when he stepped into oncoming traffic.

"It isn't right," Piers says. The tears fall more freely now. He can't seem to stop them. All he can do is stand there, trying not to choke.

"We can go home if you'd like," his cousin says.

Good ole Max. His main concern has always been Piers and making sure he's okay. Sometimes Piers thinks he doesn't deserve his cousin.

Piers shakes his head. "I have to say goodbye."

The casket is white with gold accents. Inside, Dudley seems to sleep on a bed of gold satin. Piers wonders if the Dursleys picked it out, and if they knew how much Dudley loved gold. Do they remember the time he fancied himself a rapper and bought gold jewelry. Gordon and Dennis had laughed at him, but Dudley just broke Gordon's nose, and that was the end of it.

Piers rests his hand on the casket, his thumb rubbing against the metal lining and leaving oily smears on the gold. "Heya, Big D," he says.

For a moment, he imagines Dudley might open his eyes and grin. That would be so like him. He would get a good laugh out of it and tell Piers how stupid he looks, how ridiculous they all are for believing he's dead.

But Dudley doesn't move. As much as Piers wishes otherwise, Dudley will never move again.

"You were always like a brother to me, mate. But you already knew that, didn't you?" He smiles in spite of the pain. "I… Fuck, Dudley. I dunno what I'm gonna do without you. How can I even try to go on?" He snorts, eyes rolling. "Okay, that was dramatic."

He hears footsteps behind him. Others are lining up, waiting for their turn. Piers wants to tell them to piss off.

Instead, he reaches in and pats Dudley's chest. "Rest easy, Big D."

Max is waiting for him. Piers wraps his arms around his cousin, sobbing. "Will it ever get better?"

"Eventually," Max assures him. "For now, all you can do is take it one day at a time."

Piers doesn't know how he's going to do that. The world is so bloody heavy, and he thinks he might suffocate. But he will try. All he can do is carry on, knowing Max will never let him down.


	2. Chainsmoking (Piers)

_Word Count: 483_

* * *

Piers lights a cigarette, taking a long drag on the filter. The smoke fills his lungs as he walks down the street. He knows he shouldn't be out. It's late, and Max will worry if he knows that Piers is sneaking out again.

Piers is supposed to be over this. He isn't the same troubled kid he was when he first came to Max. There shouldn't be any more disappearing in the middle of the night because things are supposed to be good again.

But they aren't. Not anymore. Dudley and his family are gone. No note, no anything. No one has seen them on over a week.

Piers exhales, and a cloud of smoke drifts through the air, tinged by the amber glow of the streetlamp. He takes another drag, letting his feet carry him along. He doesn't pay attention to where he goes; truth be told, he doesn't really care. All he knows is that he's about to come out of his skin, and he just needs to move. The night is so goddamn lonely, and he thinks he might actually lose his mind.

He wonders if he's done something wrong. That wouldn't explain why the whole family would just up and leave, but it has to explain why Dudley was so distant. One day, he was fine. Then everything changed. He was quieter, more solemn. He started canceling plans out of nowhere.

Except that can't be it. Gordon says Dudley did the same with him. Dennis says he can't remember the last time Dudley was around.

Piers doesn't understand. They even took Harry with them, and he knows how much they all hated Harry.

He pauses at the end of the street and drops the cigarette before snuffing it out beneath his trainer. Almost immediately after, he pulls another cigarette from the pack and lights it, savoring the rich taste of tobacco on his tongue.

Without Dudley here, the others don't care much about him. As far as the gang is concerned, Piers is just dead weight, too soft to be useful.

He doesn't care; he doesn't need their friendship. What he needs is Dudley, but Dudley is not here anymore.

He tells himself he didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes people just leave. Maybe Dudley just didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Maybe...

Piers has to cling to theories and hope and try so hard to be an optimist because the alternative is too painful.

The alternative is his worst fear being realized. He is unloved, unwanted, unimportant. Dudley's off living a life that is better simply because Piers is not a part of it.

Pier lights another cigarette. The smoke is harsh on his dry throat, but he does not care. There is nicotine in his veins and stars in the sky, and maybe, just maybe, he can find a way to make everything okay.


	3. Don't Cry (Regulus)

_Word Count:_ 482

* * *

Regulus wakes to his mother screaming and yelling. This isn't a terribly uncommon occurrence, but there's something different about it. He hears Sirius' name again and again.

What has his brother done now? This level of anger is terrifying. Regulus can't help but fear for Sirius' life. He pushes his sheet from his body, letting the fabric pool carelessly on the floor as he jumps out of bed and rushes to his brother's room.

It is empty. Sirius' things are gone, but pictures of Muggle girls in bikinis and those ridiculous motorbikes he loves so much are still there.

It's a punch to the gut, and Regulus thinks he might be sick. Sirius can't be gone. It doesn't matter that home is hell for him. He's supposed to stay for Regulus. They haven't spoken in years, not since Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor, but that doesn't mean Regulus doesn't still love him. It doesn't mean Sirius can just abandon him like this.

Regulus drops to his knees, sucking in a trembling breath. He will not cry because he is a Black, and Blacks do not cry.

…

They stand before the tapestry. This isn't the first time Regulus has had to appear for one of these things. He still remembers the day Andromeda was removed. Aunt Druella was eerily silent that day, and Regulus remembers seeing her argue with Uncle Cygnus. He hadn't understood it at the time, but he does now.

It isn't easy. Tradition is supposed to be their foundation. Nothing else matters it they do not follow tradition and do what is expected of them. Regulus has learned this from the moment he was old enough for the lesson to be drilled into his head. He accepts that betrayal means being removed from the family.

That doesn't make it hurt any less. His mother stands before them, listing Sirius' transgressions against the family. Everyone nods their agreement. No one defends Sirius.

He is a traitor. He deserves this.

Except that doesn't make it any easier. No one talks about how strong Sirius is, or how he has a heart of gold. All anyone talks about is how he has betrayed them, how they must do whatever is necessary in order to maintain the family's dignity.

And then there's a small flash of light and a hint of smoke. Sirius is removed from the tapestry.

Regulus wants to drop to his knees but he keeps himself upright. Blacks do not cry.

…

He is alone in his room, and it hurts so bloody bad. The shock has worn off; cold grief has washed over him. Sirius is gone, and the world is cruel.

Now, hidden away where no one else can see him, Regulus does cry.

Maybe he's a Black, but he's also human, and all he knows is that today is the worst, most devastating day of his life.


	4. Winter Wonders (AlicePetunia)

_Word Count: 530_

* * *

Petunia wonders if she should be annoyed. It seems that Lily is on a quest to rekindle their friendship. Her latest attempt comes in the form of a girl with short chestnut hair, a patch of freckles across her nose, and a beautiful smile.

Alice Fortescue, Lily explains, is a witch too, and she may be the kind of girl Petunia might like.

Petunia doesn't know how Lily could possibly know about that. She hasn't dared to tell anyone how she feels. If she's honest, she's still coming to terms with the fact that sometimes she looks at girls the way she's supposed to look at boys.

It doesn't matter, though. Alice is beautiful, and Petunia cannot say no.

…

"I can't believe you've never been ice skating before!" Petunia says, stepping onto the ice.

Alice is wobbly as she follows behind. It's cute, really. Petunia doesn't think she's ever met anyone who hasn't done this before. Admittedly, Petunia's skills are only slightly above average, but compared to Alice, she looks like a professional.

"I'm going to fall!" Alice squeals, giggling as she clutches Petunia's arm.

"No you won't," Petunia assures her. "I won't let you."

She's never allowed herself to be this physically close to another girl. In the back of her mind, she's told herself it's abnormal and wrong, and she shouldn't want this. Now, she doesn't care what that voice says. Alice is beautiful and kind, and Petunia wants to stay here in this moment forever.

…

Snow drifts to the ground as they walk out of the cafe, holding their cups of hot cocoa. Alice moves a little closer to her so that their shoulders are touching; Petunia shivers, and she suspects it has nothing to do with the cold air that caresses her skin.

"This is really good," Alice says, sipping her drink, her eyes lighting up with delight.

"It's the cinnamon," Petunia tells her.

They walk through the streets mostly in silence. Sometimes Alice will see something she doesn't understand, and Petunia will explain. Petunia thinks she should find it annoying, but it's actually sort of endearing the way Alice is so fascinated by the smallest things.

"I really don't want this night to end," Alice admits when they reach Petunia's house.

Petunia shakes her head. "Neither do I."

It would be wonderful to find a way to extend the night, but there is only so much they can do, especially in this weather. The best Petunia can hope for is a second date.

Alice leans in, kissing her quickly, a rich pink staining her cheeks when she pulls away. "I hope that was okay," she says. "I usually don't kiss on the first date, but you're special, Petunia."

Petunia pulls her close, kissing her again. She could do this all night, but she knows they have to part ways. "Let's do this again soon."

Alice nods. "I would love to."

Lily is waiting for her when she gets inside. "Well?"

Petunia sniffs. "I'm not one to kiss and tell."

Lily jumps up, grinning broadly. "So you kissed her!"

Petunia can't help it. She laughs. "I had an amazing time," she says. "Thank you."


	5. Sacrifices (Peter)

Word_ Count: 408_

* * *

"Something wrong, Peter?" James asks, brows raising. "You look a bit ill."

Peter swallows dryly. Is he really that transparent? No. He can't be. James is just giving him a hard time again.

He smiles, but the curve of his lips feels shaky. Can James see right through him? Will he somehow know what is going to happen?

Peter doesn't want to think about that, of course. It's a shame it has to be this way, but there's nothing he can do. He loves Lily and James, and he wishes it could be different. But the Dark Lord has a plan, and Peter has thought long and hard before making his decision. This is for the best. His master has laid out the winning side before him, and Peter knows he is making the right choice.

Sometimes the right choice involves sacrifice. Isn't that what Dumbledore has been preaching for so long? There's a difference between what is easy and what is right, and this most certainly isn't easy, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"I'm fine, James," Peter says, and he's so glad his voice doesn't betray him.

His nerves are normal. That's what he has to tell himself, at least. Everything worth doing is supposed to make you nervous. It only strengthens his resolve and makes him more confident in his decision.

This is the right thing. He wouldn't be so afraid if it was a mistake.

"So glad you could stop by," Lily says, entering the living room. She looks exhausted. "Just got Harry down for a nap. Are you staying for lunch, Pete?"

Peter shakes his head. "No. I'm afraid not. I just wanted to check in and make sure you're both okay."

Lily smiles as she crosses the room and pulls Peter into a hug. "You always were such a great friend."

Her words feel like knives finding their way into his chest. For a moment, Peter forgets how to breathe, and tears sting his eyes. "Don't mention it."

When he walks away, it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He tells himself again and again that he is doing the right thing, that Lily and James would understand.

"Well?" the Dark Lord asks, his voice as cold as ice.

Peter considers lying. Maybe he could get away with it.

But he isn't willing to die. Not for this.

"Tonight, my lord," Peter says, bowing his head.


	6. Brothers (Bill and Charlie)

_Word Count: 491_

* * *

"Do you have to go?"

Bill stops, laughing softly as he looks up from the bag he's trying to pack. It's a losing battle, really. He has never been a very tidy person, and his clothes still spill from the bag, pooling at his feet on the floor. Maybe he should have listened when his mum tried to teach him the packing charm.

"You know you asked the same thing when I left for Hogwarts, Char," he says.

His brother shrugs. "I was a lot less worried about that," he says, sitting on Bill's bed and folding his arms over his chest. "I knew I would be right behind you."

Bill shakes his head and pushes Charlie gently, moving him just enough to reach the shirt beneath him. It's wrinkled and creased already. He only hopes that someone in Egypt can teach him how to properly do laundry. Otherwise he will go through all his wages having to buy new clothes to replace the wrinkled and dirt ones.

"I'll take your silence to mean you've changed your mind and won't be leaving after all."

Bill rolls his eyes. "Hardly. You know how hard I worked to get this gig."

"Yeah, well…" Charlie sighs before stretching out, making himself at home on Bill's bed. "What am I supposed to do without my favorite brother?"

"Find a new favorite," Bill suggests. "You have plenty to choose from."

He's being sarcastic, but he can't help it. Packing really does hurt, not that he would ever admit it. He's so ready to be independent and see what the world has to offer, but he's also terrified. He's never really been on his own before. It would be nice to take Charlie with him, but he imagines his mum would have a fit. She's been beside herself trying to cope with Bill leaving home. He can't imagine the fallout if he took his younger brother with him.

Bill stops his pitiful attempt at packing and sets his bag aside. With a sigh, he sits on his bed, struggling to squeeze in. Charlie has sprawled out and taken up most of the mattress.

"I'm going to miss you, you know," Bill tells him.

That doesn't really cover it. Charlie has been in his life as long as Bill can remember. The two of them have been almost as inseparable as the twins. The idea of leaving his younger brother behind sucks.

"I'll be back for holidays, though. And who knows? Maybe you can even come visit me," Bill says.

"That sounds nice," Charlie decides, nodding.

It will be strange to be on his own and to know Charlie is so far away. Still, Bill thinks that maybe it will be okay. He has to live his own life and figure things out for himself.

"Mind if I help you pack?" Charlie asks. "You're sort of rubbish at it."

Bill laughs. "Knew I kept you around for something."


	7. Define Your Life (Remus and Hope)

_Word Count: 515_

* * *

Stargazing is normally soothing, but Remus' mind is too scattered now. He stares at the stars above him, and he can't help but to hate them because they are so close to the moon.

Greyback really did take everything from him.

"Too bad that didn't kill me," he murmurs to himself, lifting the bottle of wine he nicked from his parents. They will notice eventually, but no time soon; his parents so rarely drink. Maybe they won't even suspect him. After all, he's thirteen, just a kid. Not a raging alcoholic.

The wine burns, and he tries not to gag.

"Your father is the one who enjoys red wine."

Remus jumps when he hears his mother's voice. He turns, tossing the bottle to the side, like the tall grass can conceal it and make her forget she's seen it. In the starlight, he can see her roll her eyes. Clearly, he failed.

"How did you know?"

His mother laughs softly and sits beside him. "I'm your mother. I know everything."

It doesn't answer his question, but Remus doesn't push it. She isn't upset with him, so he assumes he isn't in trouble. No point in rocking the metaphorical boat.

"A word to the wise," she says, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "Stand tall, Remus."

"I… What?"

"I know it's easy to let yourself be the victim, but I did not raise you that way." She sighs heavily. "How you react to your circumstances determines whether you are a victim or a survivor. Which do you want to be?"

He doesn't know how she's figured out what's bothering him. Maybe she's always known. Maybe his stealing the wine was the sign she needed in order to intervene.

Remus hangs his head in shame. He appreciates the advice, but he wishes it wasn't necessary. He wishes he could be a better son for her.

Truth be told, he is tired of feeling this way. It seems like anger has been his defining trait for too long. How have his friends managed to deal with him? He is a mess. They deserve better than him.

He shakes his head. No. They deserve a better him. They deserve a Remus who is more open, who smiles more and enjoys their shenanigans.

He can't remember the last time he was that Remus, but he thinks he can be like that again. Merlin knows he misses it. His life would be much brighter if he could find a way to overcome his own personal tragedy and live his life.

"I don't want to be a victim anymore," he whispers.

His mother hugs him tighter. "That's my boy," she says before pointing to the twinkling stars above them. "Do you know what that constellation is?"

"I don't know. What?" he asks, forgetting his Astronomy lessons completely.

She chuckles. "I don't know. That's why I was asking you."

He will find himself again. He will leave this life behind and make himself better. It may not be easy, but with his friends and family beside him, he thinks that anything is possible.


	8. Tea Party (Ron and Rose)

_Word Count: 406_

* * *

Rose's tea parties have quickly become Ron's favorite part of the week. Without fail, his daughter hosts a little party with her stuffed animals every Friday when Hermione is out and Hugo is napping.

"No, Henry," she says to a green snake stuffed animal. She rolls her eyes and giggles like the snake has said something funny. "Mayonnaise is not an instrument! You eat it, silly!"

"Henry still hasn't learned about people food?" Ron asks, kneeling beside the table.

Rose always asks him to join her, but he's afraid the pale blue chairs are too small for him. The last thing he needs is to break her heart by having one collapse underneath him. Though it can easily be repaired with a spell, Rose is so sentimental.

Instead, he sits between Henry the snake and Tulip the princess narwhal, situated on the floor. The hardwood is hell on his knees, but his daughter's face lights up whenever he joins her.

"I tried 'splaining it!" Rose huffs. She shoots Henry a withering look that she learned from Hermione; Ron instinctively shrinks back. "He doesn't want to listen! I don't want him at my parties anymore if he don't listen!"

Kids are so weird. Rose seems to be so personally offended by something that comes from her own imagination. Ron frowns, trying to remember if there was ever a time when he was the same way. There must have been; he will have to ask his mum about it later.

"Well, I applaud you for trying," he says. "But did you think that maybe he has trouble understanding things sometimes? Do we act mean to people who have a hard time understanding?"

Rose considers this, frowning. Her bottom lip pokes out, and he's worried she's about to cry. Finally, she shrugs. "He isn't a people. He's a snake!"

"But what if he was a person? Do you think you would maybe be hurting his feelings right now?" he asks.

Rose's frown deepens. A soft pink stains her freckled cheeks. "Sorry, Henry. You can't help it if you don't know how people food works." She reaches out and plucks him from the chair, hugging him tight. "I'll teach you."

It warms his heart to know Rose is on the path to becoming a better than he ever was. It's all a father could ever hope for. "I love you," he says.

She beams. "I know!"

Really, she is perfect.


	9. Weight of Loneliness (Teddy and Andi)

_Word Count: 350_

* * *

Teddy walks along the cliff overlooking the sea. Behind him in the distance, back at Shell Cottage, the others are all laughing and enjoying themselves. He could blend in and wear a mask. Merlin knows he has learned how to fake a smile and pretend.

But he's so tired and so damn lonely. It doesn't matter that he spends so much time surrounded by friends. He still feels so alone.

His eyes flicker to the water below. A seagull gives a cry before spreading its wings and diving. It's a majestic sight, but it isn't enough to hold his attention. His mind drifts again.

It's unfortunate that he can't seem to enjoy himself. It's Dominique's eleventh birthday, and he is afraid he's ruining it.

"I thought I would find you here."

Teddy turns, offering his grandmother a shaky smile. "Hi, Gran."

His grandmother smiles and moves closer, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "We aren't so different, you know," she tells him. "My family disowned me. Different circumstances, but I know the loneliness you feel, my boy."

"By all accounts, it doesn't make sense," he says with a heavy sigh.

He's grateful to have his grandmother in his life. She and his godfather have both invested so much time into making him into who he is today. It feels like he's spitting in their faces by feeling this way, like he's telling them that everything they've done isn't good enough.

"It isn't supposed to," she says. "You can't help how you feel. And when you feel so alone… It is a heaviness that you can't shake."

He looks up at her, nodding. "Like the world is on my shoulders."

"And no one could ever understand," she agrees.

He smiles. Maybe she really does get it. He sighs, relief flooding his body.

"Can I have a hug now?" she asks, holding her arms out.

Teddy nods, hugging her and resting his head on her shoulder. It's still so hard sometimes. He will never truly feel like he belongs. But maybe, just maybe, it will be okay. At least he isn't alone.


	10. Not So Bad (Ginsy)

_Word Count: 544_

* * *

Pansy scoffs, pouring herself a glass of firewhiskey. "Why the hell would I want to come to Weasley and Granger's wedding?" she asks. "Committing yourself to one person like that… It ain't natural!"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "You'll come because you love me," she says simply.

Pansy bites back a scowl. It's true enough. They're as different as can be, a fact the world is not going to ever let them forget. Ginny is a war hero, a fighter for good. Pansy is cold and dark, and they love reminding her how very flawed she is.

But she does love Ginny. It defies all logic, but she loves her more than she could ever say.

"Weddings are good for the soul, you know," Ginny says, and she sounds so much like Lovegood that Pansy laughs.

"Oh, puh-lease," she says with a snort. "I have no soul."

"If you say so."

Pansy shrugs before knocking back her glass, savoring the burn of the liquor. "I do. But yeah. I'll come with you to this pointless, aimless wedding," she says. "Just know I will be miserable the entire time."

The way Ginny's face brightens is enough to make Pansy not care about her own discomfort. If it makes Ginny happy, Pansy will go through hell a thousand times.

Ginny throws her arms around Pansy, kissing her gently. "You're awesome."

"Damn right."

…

Pansy wonders if she will ever feel comfortable at the Burrow. Molly Weasley goes out of her way to let Pansy know she's practically family, but she can still feel the tension. She is a Slytherin, a monster, and she will never be good enough to be here.

"You are an absolute vision in green," Ginny says, stumbling slightly. She pauses and frowns before pulling her shoes off and tossing them under the nearest chair. "Heels are honestly a nightmare. Shall we?"

People still watch her. Pansy knows what they must be thinking. She is a demon, and she clearly has no other goal in life except to corrupt Ginny and make her just as wrong and twisted, just as evil. Pansy wonders if anyone would believe that Ginny's goodness is exactly why Pansy loves her; it makes Pansy want to be better.

"Bill had his wedding here too," Ginny tells her as they take their seats. "Percy, too."

"Do you think you'll have yours here?" Pansy asks.

"I think you'll want to have a say in where we get married, love."

Pansy swallows dryly, a nervous laugh spilling from her lips. _Married. _The thought of standing before so many people and making an oath to love and cherish someone for the rest of her life is terrifying.

Except, maybe if it's Ginny, it won't be so bad. Merlin knows Ginny has made her life so much more beautiful. Pansy wouldn't mind holding on to that beauty for eternity.

She sighs and turns her gaze to the night sky overhead. The stars twinkle against an inky backdrop.

Really, the Burrow is quite lovely at night. She could easily see having a wedding here and being happy with it.

A content smile on her lips, Pansy slides her hand into Ginny's. "It would be a nice venue," she says. "Some day. When we're both ready."


	11. A Life Without Him (DeanPiers)

_Charms, task 3: erasing someone's memory with Obliviate_

_Word Count: 752_

* * *

_"Just stay the hell away from me!" Piers snaps, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbles backward._

_Dean holds his hands up, palms facing outward to show he isn't a threat. It kills him that he has to do that at all. "Piers, please…"_

_"What are you?" Piers demands, frantically rubbing his hand over his close-cropped dark hair, his hazel eyes wide with fear._

_"I'm a wizard. Please, just let me explain."_

_But it's no use. Dean can see it in his lover's eyes. Piers doesn't want to hear anything that he has to say. Maybe Dean can't really blame him; it is a major bombshell. He can still hear Seamus' voice so clearly explaining that it was a nasty shock for his dad to find out he was married to a witch_.

...

Dean's hand trembles as he plucks his wand from his pocket. Tears cling to his lashes, and he quickly wipes them away. There is no shame in emotions, but now is not the time to give in. This is hard enough as it is, and he has to be strong now.

"Alohomora," he whispers.

His stomach twists painfully when he hears the soft click of the lock giving way. Breaking into his ex-boyfriend's flat is crazy enough. Breaking into it with magic while knowing magic has left his ex completely traumatized… There has to be a special place in Hell for someone so cruel.

...

_"Is he in there?" Dean asks._

_The look on Dudley's face says it all. Of course Piers is in there; of course Dudley is the one to come to the door to make sure Dean knows he isn't welcome._

_Dudley says and shakes his head. "Look, mate, I really do like you. But Piers is practically family."_

_Dean nods. He hates to admit it, but he understands. Dudley is only doing what he thinks is right. If the tables were turned, he would hope Seamus would be this strong for him._

_Dean cranes his neck, peering in over Dudley's shoulder. The flat is tinged grey with cigarette smoke, and Dean can smell the bitter scent of burnt tobacco mixed with alcohol fumes. Guilt sits in his stomach like a heavy stone._

_Piers is spiraling, and it's all Dean's fault._

_"How is he?" Dean asks, but he already knows the answer._

_"I think you should leave."_

_Dean's lips press into a hard, thin line. He offers Dudley a salute before turning on his heel and walking away._

...

The smell of sweat and beer wash over him the moment he steps into the living room. Dean's stomach churns as his heart breaks. He caused this. Piers could have lived a normal, healthy life and not fall back into his old habits, but Dean ruined any chance of that. All he had to do was keep his magic to himself.

Maybe he's being hard on himself. His magic is part of who he is. Asking him to hide it is like asking him to hide the color of his skin. It isn't something that can be helped. He never asked to be a wizard, just like he never asked to be black. Some things are beyond his control.

Piers is passed out on the couch. A liquor bottle is on the cushion beside him, amber liquor spilling out and saturating the battered green material. Dozens of empty bottles litter the carpet. Dean prays they aren't all from today.

Once again, he retrieves his wand and takes a deep breath. He can do this. The fact that Piers is asleep should make it easier.

If the Ministry finds out, he's in big trouble. That should scare him, but it doesn't. He has the chance to make things right, to give Piers a better future.

A future without me in it, he thinks, and the tears threaten to fall again.

It's for the best. Piers will be better off without Dean's memory.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispers. "Please forgive me."

He raises his wand. God, he wishes his hand wouldn't tremble so badly.

"Obliviate."

…

_"What do you think?" Piers asks, setting a real estate flier down on the table. "One bed, one bath. Enough room that we could get a dog."_

_Dean chuckles. "You're sure you want me to move in?" he asks. "You might get tired of me eventually."_

_With a grin, Piers leans in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "I could never."_

_And in that moment, Dean thinks that maybe he really means it._


	12. Embracing Fate (Jily)

_Word Count: 631_

* * *

She knows exactly where the arrow on the compass inked into her arm is going to take her. It's pointed straight to James Potter so many times, but she had so desperately wanted to believe it was just broken. James Potter couldn't be her soulmate.

And yet she's taken two busses to make it this far, and she is quickly approaching a sign announcing her arrival in Godric's Hollow.

Maybe it's because she's lonely. Severus has betrayed her trust, and their friendship is beyond repair. Petunia still hasn't spoken to Lily in years, but it doesn't matter; she has Vernon now and no one else matters.

She hesitates. She could turn back. If she does, James won't ever know that she was here at all. There's no harm done, and she can get back to the mountain of summer homework.

Except she can't. Not really. She has felt the pull for so, but it is overwhelming now. If she doesn't follow it, if she doesn't realize her destiny…She feels like she might actually implode. All she can do is trust the universe and have faith that it hasn't made a mistake in making James her soulmate.

Her feet carry her on, and she pauses only to study the ruby compass arrow. Her heart flutters. Why does it flutter? It's just James, and there is no reason to get excited.

Except there is. As much as she hates to admit it, embracing her soulmate means so much to her.

She doesn't stop walking until she reaches a little house. It's surprisingly modest. Given his personality, she would have assumed James would live in something flashy.

Lily takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. After a few seconds, it opens, revealing Sirius Black. "Nope," he says. "James has been in tears over your constant rejection. Get thee gone, harlot!"

She rolls her eyes. "Sirius, go be stupid somewhere else," she says. "I'm here for my soulmate."

Sirius considers for a moment before shrugging. "It would take a better man than me to get between you two," he tells her before offering her a dramatic bow. "James! Evans is here!"

Sirius steps back, and James takes his place. Over James' shoulder, Sirius still lurks, watching like it's some soap opera unfolding. If James notices their third wheel, he doesn't say anything. He folds his arms over his chest, exposing the ruby compass that is identical to Lily's. The arrow points to her. "Well?" he says, and the firmness of his tone is a little too forced. Lily suspects he's secretly wetting himself with excitement. "What's up, Evans?"

"Stop trying to act all cool," Lily snorts, waving a dismissive hand. "We both know you've been in love with me since we were eleven."

"A fact you are clearly taking advantage of now. What happened? Did you get dumped? Were you just bored and thought I would be your dancing monkey?"

She raises her brows, lips twitching in amusement. "Since when were you not a dancing monkey?"

His mask falls, and he laughs, unable to fight a grin any longer. "You aren't wrong," he says, shrugging. "But really… Why are you here?"

"Maybe I'm tired of fighting fate," she says. "Maybe I'm ready to be open to falling in love. You're my soulmate, and I think I can live with that."

"Oh, you _think?_" James teases. "Excuse me while I swoon."

Lily snorts. "Shut up."

James steps aside, becoming her to come in. "We were just about to have some pizza," he says. "You're just in time."

Something is changing. Lily can't quite put her finger on it, but as she stands in the kitchen with James and Sirius, fixing a plate of pizza and crisps, she thinks that maybe change isn't so bad.


	13. Adventures in Carrots (James and Harry)

_Word count: 428_

* * *

"Come on, Harry," James urges. "See? Yummy yummy carrots. You've never had carrots before, yeah? Well, they're good for you."

Carrots are, in fact, absolutely disgusting. James wonders if maybe that's why Harry won't even try them. Can Harry somehow know that James is a hypocrite? He would never willingly eat the damn things, but he's forcing them on his son. He is, unfortunately, the worst.

"It wasn't me, I swear. Your mummy is a meanie head," James tells Harry. "She's the one who said you need to eat these carrots."

Harry isn't amused. He whines, pushing James' hand away, tears welling in his green eyes. James wonders how Lily does this and makes it seem so natural. As far as he can tell, she doesn't have any trouble getting Harry to try new things.

James tries again, but Harry knocks the spoon from his hand. Yes, Lily is definitely better at this. "That's how I like things," James says. "Exteme. Challenge accepted, Harry James Potter."

He draws his wand, summoning the old Snitch. He has somehow managed to keep up with it since leaving Hogwarts. Its wings don't move as fast anymore, it still has a little life left in it. When Harry sees it, his eyes widen, and he claps his pudgy little hands together excitedly. James chuckles. Harry is going to grow up to be a Seeker; he can feel it in his bones.

"That's right, kiddo," James says, picking the spoon up once again and dipping it into the mushed carrot mixture. "Just keep your eyes on the Snitch. That's a good boy."

Harry is so distracted that he doesn't even seem to notice the spoon when it goes in his mouth. After a few seconds, he smacks his lips, looking at James with orange goo dripping down his chin.

"More?" Harry asks. "More peeeeease?"

"More carrots?" James snorts. "You take after your mummy. You know that. Yucky ole carrots."

As James feeds him, he can't help but smile. His life feels so complete right now. The war is still going on, but James has such a beautiful family. For one moment, he can pretend that the atrocities of war cannot touch them.

"Look at you! Big boy ate all his carrots!" James says proudly. Just because he personally hates the vegetable doesn't mean he can't get excited over his son finding a new food to like.

He holds out his hand. When Harry doesn't react, James takes his son's wrist gently, propelling his hand forward in an awkward high five.

Everything is perfect.


	14. Parts to Play (AbraxasDruella)

_Word Count: 346_

* * *

Abraxas hates himself for feeling that twinge of jealousy. Malfoys do _not _give in to envy.

Except maybe some things are worth it. Some things are so good that it is okay to sacrifice a little bit of dignity if it means obtaining what he wants.

And Merlin! He wants Druella Rosier more than he can ever say. Watching her walk around the castle with Cygnus and keeping up appearances is too much. He doesn't think his heart can take it.

But he has to. Like it or not, they have their roles to play. He must be content with having her only at night.

If only it didn't hurt so much.

…

"You were staring far too openly," Druella says in way of a greeting.

"Lovely to see you too," Abraxas mutters, handing her a flower he picked earlier in the day, enchanted to stay fresh for two days.

Druella huffs, eyes rolling. Her slender fingers brush over the waxy green leaf, slowly making their way to the silky white petals. "If we get caught… If anyone even suspects," she whispers, a hint of defeat in her soft tone. "My father will hear about this. You know what that means."

Abraxas does. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Monsieur Rosier is a great man. Abraxas is inclined to disagree. Great men do not put their daughters through hell.

"I know, my love," he tells her, pulling her close and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "I will do what I must if it means keeping you safe."

Druella's lips pull into a soft, sad smile. "I wish it could be different."

Maybe it will one day. For now, all Abraxas can do is continue to love her.

…

Cygnus does not deserve her. He is too much of a brute, and Druella's father is cruel making such a match.

Abraxas sits in the library, watching as Cygnus escorts Druella from shelf to shelf. The envy returns, but he swallows it down.

Some things are worth losing his peace of mind.


	15. Come Home (Percy and George)

_Word Count: 796_

* * *

It's October in Diagon Alley, and it really shows. The air has that briskness to it that only comes with autumn. Once, it would have made George happy; autumn was always his favorite season. This year, however, autumn reminded him that it was another season without Fred.

He wonders if he will ever go a day without missing his fallen twin. He doubts it. Not when every reflection shows his brother's face.

Someone leans against the outside wall of the joke shop, their face obscured by the hood of a dark cloak. George resists the urge to roll his eyes. The person must have seen George leaving the shop to get his morning coffee and assumed the place was open.

"Not for another half hour, mate," George calls.

The cloaked person looks up, the hood falling away. Percy stares at George, eyes wide with surprise. "I didn't realize you weren't in there," he says. "I wasn't expecting to…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but George can guess. Since the war, Percy hasn't been in touch with anyone in the family. Maybe George understands. Still, it breaks their mother's heart. Sometimes it feels like George lost two brothers that night.

"Come in," George says, unlocking the door. "Sit and talk for awhile."

Percy looks like he's ready to decline the offer. He opens his mouth, but George cuts across him. "Please, Perce. Please come in."

And just like that, Percy's resolve seems to melt. He nods, following George into the shop. They walk to the back where a few dozen projects lay unfinished on the table. "What's this?" Percy asks, prodding a finger against a lime green owl-shaped piñata.

"Ah. The punch-yata," George says proudly. "It hits back. Hermione informed me that it's actually in violation of some Ministry regulations, so I've put it aside to tinker with a bit more."

Silence hangs between them after that. George watches the way Percy shifts, clearly uncomfortable. He would really rather be anywhere but in the shop with George, and that hurts him more than George can say.

"You're still family, you know," George says softly, breaking the tense, awkward silence. "That's what family is about. The good and the bad, we still have each other."

"I don't deserve family. Our brother is dead. I made a joke, and Fred suffered the consequences," Percy says. His voice is thin and trembling; he is so close to breaking. "It wasn't even a good joke, and now he is dead!"

And just like that, the floodgates lift. Percy shakes as a violent sob grips him.

George steps closer. He should have known Percy would blame himself. But George never blamed him. None of them did. Percy has been punishing himself, forcing himself into isolation.

"For what it's worth, Fred died laughing," George says. "I think I can safely say that he would have been happy with that circumstance."

"I screwed up," Percy says.

"You didn't. You and Fred fought side by side. We missed you so much, and you made his last few moments better than you realize."

It seems strange to be the one doing the comforting. Since the war, everyone has comforted him, telling him how great Fred was and how sorry they are for his loss. But George has come to terms with it. Percy has not. Percy has spent months seeking atonement, as though he is actually in need of redemption, when his only crime is being human.

"Mum's having a family dinner tonight," George says. "Charlie received a promotion in Romania, and we're all celebrating." George takes his hand. "You do deserve a family, Perce. You have nothing to be redeemed for, but if you are that desperate to make it right… Come home. Come back to us."

For a moment before the final battle, George thought they would be a family again. Percy was back, and his parents looked so happy. Things were supposed to return to normal, but life had other plans.

Now is the chance. Percy is there for a reason. Maybe George can give him that sense of rede and help him feel like his slate has been wiped clean.

"Are you sure they would want me?" Percy asks.

George shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. For someone so clever, Percy really is a bit of an idiot. He can understand complex magical theory, but he can't understand a universal truth about family being there for one another. "Of course." George glances at the store sign, still turned to _closed. _He waves his wand, writing out a note. The store can remain closed for the day. The world won't fall apart. Today, he and Percy are going home. Today, the Weasley family will finally learn to heal.


	16. Meant to Be (Parvati and Padma)

_Word Count:_ 534

* * *

"You and I," Parvati says to the empty space in the compartment, "are meant to be. I think you know that, and that's…"

She scowls. It doesn't come out quite right. Lavender deserves only the best, but Parvati sounds like an idiot.

With a groan, she sinks back into her seat, staring out the Hogwarts Express' window. The rich countryside is hidden today, replaced by dark skies. Beyond the glass, she hears a roll of thunder.

"You are my sunshine. On the darkest days, you radiate light and… I give up."

"Sounds like you do this sort of thing all the time."

Parvati looks up. She hadn't even noticed her twin entering the compartment. Padma offers her a soft smile as she sits across from Parvati.

It's weird. Lavender usually sits there, but she chose not to come back to take seventh year over again. Parvati doesn't really blame her. They are still haunted by the war.

But Parvati is done with her studies now, and she has a job offer with _Witch Weekly, _so everything is starting to look up. She doesn't have a ring yet; all she knows is that she wants to spend the rest of her life with Lavender. They will have the most beautiful future together.

If only she can get the words right.

"You're proposing to Lavender," Padma says.

Parvati nods. "That's the plan, but I can't seem to remember how words work."

"Try it. Just… say what you think, okay? Wait. No. What you _feel_," Padma suggests.

Parvati takes a deep breath. Why is this so nerve wracking? It should be easy to talk about how much she loves Lavender, but it isn't. Not at all.

"Lavender, you are easily the most amazing person I know. Were I a poet, I might right you sweet sonnets to tell the world of your beauty. You're the sunshine in my life, and I want you to be my wife."

She doesn't realize that it all comes out as one jumbled string of nonsensical words until Padma laughs. "Slow down," she says with a grin. "I can't keep up. I think you lost me after 'poet'."

Parvati sighs, deflating slightly. It seems impossible. No combination of words seems to work. She's spent days trying to find the perfect proposal, but she seems to fall short, no matter how hard she tries.

"I have an idea. Don't plan it," Padma suggests. "You've always been the spontaneous one, so go with that. I think you'll find that it works better for you."

She has a point. Padma has always been all about thought, while Parvati favors action. Maybe Parvati should embrace her strength and use it to her advantage.

"Is she going to be at the station to meet you?" Padma asks.

Parvati nods. Lavender hasn't come out much since the attack. Even with all the time that has passed, people still look at her like she is some sort of monster. It's made Lavender prefer solitude.

"Good." Padma grins, holding her hand out. "In that case, I'm taking you both out to celebrate."

"She hasn't even said yes."

"She will," Padma assures her. "After all, you two were meant to be."


	17. Duty (Druella and Narcissa)

_Word Count: 586_

* * *

Druella sighs when she enters her youngest daughter's room. Narcissa is still in bed, curled up beneath emerald sheets. Ordinarily, Druella would allow her to sleep in, but today is a big day.

"Hello, sweetie," Druella says, gently nudging her daughter. "Rise and shine. You are getting married today."

Narcissa groans and rolls over, hiding her head beneath her pillow. "Wake me up when I care," she mutters, her tone sleep-heavy.

Druella sighs. She knows Narcissa isn't happy about this upcoming marriage. So few people are happy in their arrangements. Still, their family's honor is at stake. Refusing a marriage may not seem significant to Narcissa, but Druella knows that it could have dire consequences.

"Lucius expects you to be on time, darling."

"Lucius can kindly sod off."

Druella pinches the bridge of her nose. Narcissa has always been the perfect daughter, so eager to please Druella and Cygnus. Why does she have to choose today to be ornery?

"Show him the proper respect," Druella says, pulling at her wand. She waves it, and a blue light washes over the room as the blankets hover over Narcissa, folding themselves neatly.

Narcissa sits up, glaring at her mother. She folds her slender arms over her chest. "I'm not sure why you are acting like today actually means something, Mother. I don't love him, and I never will."

"Love?" Druella echoes with a laugh. "Darling, do you really think _love _has a place in a marriage? It's a fairytale."

She remembers being young and blind and foolish. Once, she had believed that love could be enough. She had given her heart away, and all it led to the worst pain imaginable. Broken hearts never really heal, and she wants Narcissa to be spared that misery. Arranged marriages may not be filled with love, but they keep people safe from heartache.

"You will marry him, and you will have children by him so that our bloodlines stay strong," Druella says firmly.

"That's the worst reason I've ever heard to have a baby."

Druella shakes her head, moving closer. She sits beside Narcissa, taking her daughter gently by the hand. "If you're scared, you can just say so," she says. "You don't have to pretend."

That's all this is. Just an act. Narcissa would never be so disrespectful, so disobedient.

"I'm scared," Narcissa confirms, deflating as she sighs. "I feel like I'm missing something, Mother. Aren't I too young to get married? Shouldn't I be able to live first?"

"This is our way, my love. You know that."

Narcissa huffs. "I hate it."

"Anything sounds bad if you say with that attitude," Druella says, standing again, still holding Narcissa's hand. She guides Narcissa to her feet. "This is what it means to be a Black. Family always comes before yourself. Don't ever forget that."

It isn't the advice that Druella wants to give. She wishes she could tell Narcissa to be free, to have the life Druella never could. Maybe Druella even envies Andromeda for being brave enough to challenge the Black family ways.

But it is the part she must play and the words she must say. She is not brave and cannot change things. All she can do is pass the tradition on to her daughter and hope for the best.

"Come, darling. We must prepare."

Narcissa may not have a happy future ahead of her, but she will be taken care of, and the Blacks and Malfoys will come together. It's all anyone could ever hope for.


	18. Sibling Pains (Rose and Hugo)

_Word Count: 350_

* * *

"Modesty forbids me to agree with you, sir, but yes. Yes, I am," Rose says, smiling her brightest smile. "It has taken years to get my routine down, but you see the results. My skin is as unblemished as my reputation."

The sound of laughter behind her makes her jump. Rose turns, eyes narrowing when she sees Hugo in the kitchen, his tawny owl, Isadora on his shoulder with a letter attached to her leg. Hugo grins. "You're doing that thing again, aren't you? The thing where you pretend you're being interviewed." He throws his shoulders back and pushes his chest out before continuing in a falsetto. "Yes, I am Rose Weasley, and I am the most amazing person in the world, and I am better at everything than everyone!"

Rose's cheeks burn with annoyance. With a scowl, she turns away from her little brother. "I can taste my hatred for you," she snaps.

Her brother laughs, moving past her opening the window. Isadora leaps from her perch before flying out. "Yes. I know," he says. "Your life is one of anguish and darkness, and you are so full of rage."

She rolls her eyes before turning back to him, folding her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Hu?" she asks. "You've thrown off my groove, and now…"

Rose decides it isn't worth explaining. Hugo wouldn't understand. No one else in the family really gets her, except maybe Lucy. They think she's pretentious and a know-it-all, but they can't see what it's like in her head. If she doesn't try to be the best, it feels like a failure, and that is terrifying.

Let them tease her and laugh. They'll never get it, and it hurts, but she has to deal with it.

"I don't know why you bother with that," Hugo says. "Why do you pretend that you're so great? You already are great."

Rose softens. She doesn't know how to respond at first. Smiling, she reaches out and pulls him into a hug. "You're a pain in the arse, Hu," she says. "But you're my pain."


	19. Touch-Starved (KingsleyGeorge)

_For Bex _

_Word Count: 736_

* * *

Kingsley stands beside George, looking down at the bed. Well, it isn't much of a bed. It's a dirty mattress with springs poking out, but it's the best they can find in this ramshackle hovel. Kingsley wishes they could return to London and get a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but it isn't safe anymore.

Voldemort has run. So many have been lost, but the most shocking is Harry. At no point did Kingsley ever think it was possible for them to be on the losing side.

He looks around, his heart heavy. Hermione sits on her own battered mattress, a book clutched desperately in her hands. Ron sits beside her, watching her with a protective glint in his eyes. Neville and Molly fuss over the fireplace, maneuvering a frying pan over the flames, hoping to heat it enough.

There were more of them only a day ago. Death Eaters ambushed them. Some managed to break away from the group, and Kingsley only hopes they made it to safety. Others, like Arthur, Dean, and Minerva, died in the battle. Their deaths are still so heavy in Kingsley's heart.

"You can have the bed," Kingsley offers.

George shakes his head. "Don't be daft. You're not sleeping on the floor."

Kingsley doesn't have the energy to argue. Instead, he just shrugs and climbs onto the mattress. There's a red, moth eaten sheet nearby, but Kingsley thinks he would rather take his chances.

"Looks like Mum and Neville managed to get dinner started," George observes. "I'm starving."

Kingsley frowns. He can't imagine the pain George must be going through, and yet he doesn't show it. Maybe George is in shock, still unable to process everything. Whatever the reason, he wears a smile that almost looks real.

…

Kingsley can't sleep. His wide eyes remain fixed on a corner of the shack. In the shadows, a rat scurries across, squeaking. Kingsley shudders; he hates rats more than almost anything in the world.

Beside him, George squirms. A few seconds pass, and George curls closer, wrapping his arms around Kingsley.

Kingsley can't deny that it feels wonderful. At this point, he can't remember the last time anyone has held him. Maybe there's a part of him that longs for that gentle contact.

But it isn't right to accept it. George is asleep. It isn't a big deal to most, but it still feels wrong.

Kingsley sits up, studying George curiously. After a moment, George wakes with a yawn. He blinks slowly, tipping his head to the side. With a grin, he reaches out and gently pokes Kingsley's chest. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit weird?" he asks. "Just watching blokes sleep… Bit creepy, mate."

"I wasn't watching you!" Kingsley's cheeks burn. "You… You turned over and started cuddling with me."

In the milky moonlight that pours softly in through the window, Kingsley can see George's brows raise. "Ah. Is that a problem?"

The fact that he is so casual about it is bizarre. Kingsley ponders for a moment. As understanding dawns on him, he snaps his fingers, chuckling. "You knew you were a cuddler."

"Yep."

That's one mystery solved, but there's more to it than that. Kingsley frowns. "Why would you want to cuddle with me? You insisted I didn't need to sleep on the floor."

George snorts and shakes his head. "Come on, Shacklebolt," he teases. "Use that brilliant brain of yours." When Kingsley doesn't respond, George adds, "Blimey. Do I actually have to spell it out for you? We're both pretty haunted. I think you're about as lonely as I am."

"What a sad reason to hold someone."

"To be fair, I wouldn't need a tragedy to want to hold you."

Ah. So there it is. Kingsley swallows dryly, unsure what to say. Maybe there's a part of him that has always noticed George, but he would never try to start anything. The world is dark and twisted, and it's no time to start a relationship.

And yet, somehow, he doesn't mind now. With a smile, he lies down, gesturing for George to join him. "If you don't mind," Kingsley says quietly, "I think I would like to hold you now."

It's the first time in ages that he feels safe again, like the world isn't going to fall apart. As George curls close, Kingsley smiles. Maybe there's some glimmer of hope for them after all.


	20. A Minute (Regulus and Sirius)

_Word Count: 496_

* * *

_"Years of love have been forgot in the hatred of a minute."- Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

Regulus tells himself he's going to let it go. He really does try.

But then he sees Sirius and his friends walking down the corridor, laughing he tugs at his crimson and gold tie, and resentment sours his stomach.

"This story's about me, not him!" Sirius says, nudging the boy beside him. "No offense, Pete."

"None taken."

Regulus wants to run over and smash his brother's face in the wall. But he doesn't want it. Not really. It isn't anger that fuels him now. He is bitter and wants to lash out, to make Sirius feel as miserable as he does.

It's the principle of it, really. He and Sirius hadn't been close in the past few years, not since he was Sorted into Gryffindor. But it doesn't matter. A different House is one thing. Sirius ran away and abandoned him, and it isn't fair.

He can't stop himself. Regulus storms over, standing in front of the laughing quartet. "I need to speak with you."

Potter laughs and whispers something in Sirius' ear, too low for Regulus to catch. Whatever it is makes Sirius smirk. "You lot go ahead," Sirius tells them. "I'll catch up."

The three hesitate but finally start moving again, quickly disappearing in the crowd. Sirius turns to Regulus, brows raised. "Well?"

Regulus looks around them. They are off to the side, but there are still too many people around. He shakes his head. "Not here," he says. "Somewhere private."

Isn't crowded. Most people will probably pass them by without a second thought. All it takes is one person, though. Regulus is supposed to be the good son. If his parents find out that he's talking to Sirius… He isn't sure his mother's heart could take it.

Sirius shrugs and leads the way into an empty classroom. "What do you want, Reg?"

_Reg. _He hates Sirius for using a nickname now. They haven't spoken in years. What gives him the right to talk to him like they are friends?

"You left."

Sirius doesn't even look apologetic. He just nods. "I left," he confirms.

"You left _me._"

Regulus doesn't know why it hurts so badly. They haven't been close in so long, but Sirius leaving feels like a wound that refuses to heal. It isn't personal, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

"I couldn't stay there," Sirius says. "I'm not like you."

Regulus winces. _Not like you. _He knows Sirius' opinion of the family. He can imagine what that means. Something inside of him hardens, growing colder. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time you've ruined everything," he says sharply.

"Reg…"

Regulus shakes his head and stalks off. "Don't come near me again," he mutters.

Maybe he had hoped to make amends, to figure out a way to keep his brother in his life. But it isn't supposed to be that way. He and Sirius are too different, and maybe this is for the best.

If only it didn't hurt so much.


	21. A Better Future (GinnyLuna)

_For Audrey_

_Word Count: 1114_

* * *

i.

The world around her is suddenly grey and cold, and all the sound seems to disappear. Ginny stands, her body growing numb as she tries to process what she sees before her.

First Fred. Now Harry lies in Hagrid's arms, a stiff and unmoving.

It's over. They've lost.

She almost laughs. In all these years, she never thought it would be possible that they could lose. She had believed with every scrap of hope in her heart that Harry would keep them safe.

And now the Dark Lord is victorious.

"Ginny." Ron tugs her hand urgently. "We have to go. _Now._"

She doesn't know how to respond. Ginny opens her mouth, but no words come out. That's how she knows it really is hopeless. Ron and Hermione were loyal to Harry until the end. If they're running…

Numb, she allows her brother to lead the way. Everything is a blur around her. Noise and movement, but nothing really registers. People scream. Jets of green light fly past.

And yet she isn't quite aware.

"There's a passage into Hogsmeade," she hears George say. "We should be able to get out like that."

Ginny doesn't know if she wants to escape at all. What's the point? Now that Harry is gone, things are going to get so much worse. Maybe it would be wiser to stay, to let the green light find home in her body and send her into oblivion.

But she doesn't stop. Even as the world crashes around her and she wants nothing more than to stop, drop to her knees, and scream at the top of her lungs, her legs carry her to safety.

ii.

"He isn't gone," Luna tells her as they sit outside.

It's been three days since the battle. They have found safety in an old farmhouse that Professor McGonagall's brother owned before his death. There are only a few survivors at the camp, but her mother has been trying to reach out. So far, they know Kingsley and four others are in Cardiff while Bill, Fleur, and a few others are trying to find a way out of London.

Under ordinary circumstances, this place might be beautiful. For Ginny, in this moment, it is the epitome of hell.

"He _is_ gone," Ginny says, her tone sharper than she intends. "This isn't some bloody fairytale. He isn't going to live just because you believe."

She shouldn't be so hard on Luna. Ginny knows that her best friend is suffering too. Last any of them heard, her father is still a prisoner. Even though Luna always wears a smile, she has to be close to breaking too.

But if Luna is bothered by Ginny's bluntness, she doesn't show it. Instead, Luna just wears her usual smile, plucking flowers and skillfully tie the stems together. "Not really," Luna says. "Only physically. You know, I still hear my mum whisper to me sometimes."

Ginny wants to point out that it isn't good to hear voices. She can't bring herself to. If it gives Luna comfort, so be it.

Still smiling, Luna holds up the flowers. She's formed them into a crown. "Here," she says, gently placing the flower crown on Ginny's head.

It doesn't take the pain away, but it helps. For the first time in a long time, Ginny finds herself smiling.

iii.

The nightmares are the worst. Ginny wakes, screaming. Her throat is raw, and tears cling to her lashes. She sits up, trying to steady herself with a deep breath. It's no use.

Luna is by her side in seconds. They've been put in the same room together, though Luna has the habit of falling asleep near the window with a book in her hands. Sometimes it feels like Ginny is completely alone in the room.

But not now. Now that she needs her, Luna is there, wrapping her arms around Ginny and holding her close. "It's okay," Luna whispers. "Only a bad dream. Nightmares can't hurt you."

"Please don't leave me," Ginny says.

"I won't. I promise."

Ginny doesn't even think. She kisses Luna gently. Even though she still loves Harry, it doesn't feel like a betrayal. It has been a month since the battle, and the pain is still raw and stinging, but she knows that she will be okay. Harry would want her to be happy. Well, as happy as she can be under the circumstances.

"You kissed me," Luna says, her eyes meeting Ginny's.

"I did."

Luna considers this in silence for several moments. "Does this mean we're more than friends?"

"If you want to be," Ginny says.

The silence that follows is maddening. Ginny feels her stomach twisting itself into knots.

Finally, Luna smiles. "I think I would like that."

iv.

They're by the stream, collecting berries for dessert. Ginny likes it out her. Both of her parents, Ron, and Hermione are off with rebellion work. Ginny longs to be there too, but she and Luna are out here, caring for the new members of their community.

Over the past two months following the war, more than a dozen survivors have found their way to the base. Others have managed to make contact, and bases are springing up across Britain. Slowly but surely, hope is beginning to spread.

The fight isn't over. Maybe it never will be. Ginny is so tired of war and pain and darkness, but she isn't afraid to fight. It means a chance for a better future, and she is willing to give anything for that.

As she sets her basket down and steps into the stream, smiling as she feels the cold water caress her bare feet, she feels something change. It's a subtle shift in the atmosphere, but she can feel it all the way in her soul. Warmth washes over her, and there is a sense of happiness and belonging, like maybe everything really will work out for the best, one way or another.

Luna takes Ginny's hand and lifts it to her lips, kissing her knuckles gently. Ginny smiles. The peaceful feeling passes, but still feels calm and happy.

In that moment, she understands what Luna had meant in those days following the battle. Harry is still with her, just like Fred. They've touched a part of her soul that will never be the same.

But the world is still turning. The future is theirs, and there are so many chances to smile and laugh and just live.

That has to be enough.

Ginny kisses Luna's cheek before resting against her, letting a soft sigh. "There may still be beauty in the world."

"There is," Luna confirms. "You just need to know where to look."


	22. Partners (Kingsley and Tonks)

_Word Count: 448_

* * *

It's going surprisingly well. Tonks is usually not allowed on stealth missions, but luck seems to be on her side. She sneaks along carefully, never keeping her eyes off of Kingsley. This won't be so bad. In, out, back to the Auror office by lunch.

Except she remembers why she is never allowed on these types of missions. All it takes is one slip, and Tonks has always been so horribly clumsy. In the end, she isn't surprised when it happens. Somehow she manages not to cry out, even as her ankle twists, but there's no denying the commotion when she falls, shattering the glass display.

She's going to cut up when this is all said and done, but that's the least of their worries now.

"Can you walk?" Kingsley asks.

"Barely. Go. I'll be fine."

They managed to lift the wards, but if she's triggered their security, they don't have long before those wards close again. If she's left behind, it isn't the end of the world. If neither of them make it out…

Kingsley is too bloody noble. He doesn't even seem to think twice before helping her to her feet. "Last I checked," he says, guiding her along, "you and I are a team."

Behind them, there is noise and chaos. They've definitely set off some alarms. It doesn't matter. Kingsley is determined and has never been one to just give up easily.

Kingsley navigates, not stopping until they're outside and able to Apparate away. To her surprise, they don't return to the Ministry yet. Instead, they're inside Kingsley's house. "Let's get you cleaned up before we got back," he says, frowning. "That's a lot of glass."

Tonks finally _really _sees the glass. None of it seems too deep, but there are countless shards embedded in her skin. "Ouch."

He chuckles. "I think that's an understatement," he says before carefully removing the shards with a quick charm. Once it's done, he begins healing the cuts.

With a sigh, Tonks tucks a strand of rose pink hair behind her ear. Not the most inconspicuous hair color, but she loves it and can concentrate best when her hair is a wild color. "You should have left me," she says.

Kingsley shakes his head, dark eyes rolling. "The paperwork would have been a pain in the ass."

"That isn't the reason. You can't fool me. I listen to public radio."

He grins and affectionately ruffles her hair. "You're a bit roguish, but you're a damn good partner. I would be devastated if anything ever happened to you." He offers his hand. "Now. Back to the Ministry? Or straight to lunch?"

She considers for a moment. "Lunch. My treat."


	23. Among Friends (Marauders)

_Word Count: 460_

* * *

"Ow! Oh! Professor Binns!" Sirius cries out suddenly massaging his wrist. "I was taking such thorough notes on this lecture that I seem to have injured my wrist. May I be excused to the hospital wing, as much as it pains my soul to miss such a riveting lecture?"

Remus resists the urge to roll his eyes. Any other teacher would be quick to call Sirius out. Binns, however, barely even looks up.

"Go right ahead, Mr. Blue."

"I need Remus to go with me."

Remus looks up from his notes, brows raising. If James or Peter find any of this out of the ordinary, they don't say anything.

"Very well. Mr. Llewellyn, you are excused as well," Binns says.

Remus doesn't have a chance to say anything. Sirius grabs him by the hand. "Come on. My poor wrist is so terribly injured that I'm not sure if I can even open the door."

Remus knows better than to protest. He doesn't bother to ask questions. Instead, he just shrugs and follows along. Once outside, Sirius grins. "Quite the miracle, Moony," he says. "I seem to be healed."

With that, Sirius pulls out the Marauders Map, opening it and studying it for a minute. Without another word, he leads the way.

"You are absolutely ridiculous," Remus says.

Sirius' grin only grows more playful. "Ridiculous? Me? Now that's just nonsense, Moony."

Remus rolls his eyes, frowning as they come to a stop in front of a statue of a leprechaun. Sirius pulls the stone hate before shaking his head. "Nope. Wrong lever."

He leads Remus further up to a second leprechaun statue. This one gives way when the hat is pulled. Curious, Remus steps into the revealed passageway behind Sirius. The others must have found a new one while Remus was recovering from the full moon.

Once inside, they roam the tunnel until they reach a circular room. James and Peter are already there.

"How?" Sirius demands. "You left after we did!"

James smirks. "Well, maybe if you didn't take the long way…"

"Remus hasn't seen the leprechaun corridor yet," Sirius mutters, pouting playfully.

"You guys orchestrated this?" Remus asks. "I hate all of you."

He's joking, of course. Even so, he still feels a twinge of pain. It seems the three of them always do things when he isn't around.

"We did," Peter confirms. "But only because…" He casts a quick _Lumos, _revealing a crudely iced cake.

"Happy birthday, Moony," James says.

Sirius grins, playfully ruffling Remus' hair. "Cheers, mate."

Remus finds himself smiling along, his heart melting. He's sixteen now, and he still worries that he doesn't truly belong. But then there are these little moments when he is surrounded by friends, and all is right in the world.


	24. Waking Up In Vegas (RonPansy)

_Word Count: 535_

* * *

It takes just one nervous twitch, and everything goes wrong. The drumstick drops from Ron's hand, clattering to the floor. George is the first one to notice; he stops strumming his bass and turns with raised brows. Slowly, Fred and Lee seem to catch on, and the music stops completely.

"Okay, new theory," George says. "Maybe we should play so quietly no one can hear us." He smirks. "Or at least so no one can hear Ron."

"Lay off," Ron grumbles, adjusting his hat, his cheeks burning. "You're the one who asked me to fill in."

"A mistake on my part, I assure you," George says dryly.

Lee taps his microphone. The sound is amplified by the speakers, cutting across the bickering brothers. "Oi! We're in Vegas," he says. "This is the big time, not amateur hour. Now, are we here to whine, or are we here to rock?"

"I don't know about these two, but I'm here to rock," Fred says.

"Right on." Lee returns to the front. "Now, from the top!"

…

Pansy isn't sure why Daphne has dragged her to this show. The headlining band isn't famous, and the warmup, Lee and the Weasels, is even less known.

Still, they're in Vegas. The least she can do is try and have a good time.

"The bassist is well fit, don't you think?" Daphne asks.

Pansy shrugs. "He's alright. I bet that drummer can bang more than drums, if you know what I mean."

Daphne grins before handing Pansy a shot glass filled with pink liquor. "Only one way to find out," she calls loudly over the music. "Cheers."

"Cheers!"

…

Ron isn't sure where the girls come from. One caught George at the bar and managed to sweet talk her and her friend's way backstage. Her friend seems to only have eyes for Ron.

"I thought you were amazing," the friend says.

"Really?" Ron takes a swallow of his beer. It tastes like sweaty socks left to sour, but he keeps it down. It gives him something to do, a way to channel his nerves.

"Really. I'm Pansy."

"Ron."

She grins, leaning in. "Yeah. I know."

…

Pansy doesn't know how much she drinks. The world around her is all light and noise, and everything is a blur. She thinks that maybe Elvis is there, but it doesn't make sense.

But Ron is there. He is real and solid, and he is a perfect gentleman.

…

Ron's head pounds when he wakes up, blinking against the sunlight filtering in through the window. He looks around. A hotel room. Not terribly strange since he is on tour.

But two things stand out. A llama is asleep by the door; Ron can only guess he must have drunkenly bought or stolen the animal. The second sight is stranger. A woman is bed beside him, wearing a banner that proudly declares that she is just married. She has a floral name; Ron remembers that much. Pansy, he thinks. He hopes. Asking might be awkward.

He pushes a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He accidentally got married, and now he has a llama to care for. Maybe he wasn't ready for Vegas after all.


	25. Security (Abraxas)

_Word Count: 548_

* * *

Cygnus Black wants to arrange a marriage between his youngest daughter and Abraxas' only son. Abraxas scoffs at the letter, incredulous. He has spent years assuming Cygnus is dead.

"He's not as dead as we would have hoped," he mutters to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He doesn't know what to do. The letter requests an appearance at the Black estate for their winter ball. Cygnus expects an answer then.

Sometimes Abraxas wonders if Cygnus knew about him and Druella. Is this union truly to secure the continuance of noble blood, or is it am attempt to sneer in Abraxas' face and remind him that he lost Druella? Cygnus seeks to shame him, but Abraxas is too proud to give in, to be made a fool of. He will hold his head high and do what is best for his family.

"Lucius!"

His son appears in his study within seconds. "Yes, Father?"

"Don't slouch," Abraxas says sharply, resting his hands on his desk. He supposes Lucius and Narcissa would be a good match, especially if she is anything like her mother.

The thought of Duella makes his chest ache. It has been far too long since he has seen her, and even longer since he has spoken to her.

"How do you feel about marrying Narcissa Black?"

Lucius will do so without question, of course. He is a Malfoy, and Malfoys will do anything to ensure their family's name goes unblemished. Still, Abraxas is a father, and all fathers want to know that their children will be happy.

"She is quite lovely," Lucius says, his cheeks glowing pink.

Abraxas bites back a laugh. Good. At least Lucius will be happy. "So be it."

…

The ball is just like every other one he's attended in his life. Everyone is dressed in their finest clothes, so caught up in appearances, in showing the rest of the world how great they are. Abraxas knows it all too well. He knows what to do and say, how to present himself. It's all an act, and it has all become so tiring.

"Feeling old yet?"

His heart almost stops when he hears that voice. He turns, smiling. Druella is as lovely as ever, all silky blonde hair and high cheekbones. She smiles at him.

"Druella," he says curtly.

"We used to do this when we were kids," she says, shaking her head as she looks out at the crowd. "Now here we are."

"Here we are," he echoes.

He remembers their youth all too well. How many nights would the two of them sneak off, seeking bushes to hide behind?

But this isn't about that. As much as he's missed her, they have their own lives to live. He has to cut his reunion short. He smiles at his old flame. "Excuse me, Druella," he says. "I need to speak with your husband."

Her disappointment is almost palpable. Abraxas takes a deep breath and walks past her. As he goes, he sees Lucius on the dance floor, holding Narcissa close, and he smiles. His own days of hope and dreaming of Druella are gone. But now Lucius has a chance for love and happiness, and that's all that Abraxas needs in order to know he has made the right decision.


	26. Hidden Friendship (Regulus)

_Word Count:_ 672

* * *

"Go on, Regulus," his mother insists.

Regulus feels sick to his stomach as he looks down at the squirrel. His mother has already cast a spell to hold it in place. That's the only reason it hasn't tried to run off.

He lifts his wand, hand trembling with fear. "_Cru-Crucio."_

The squirrel doesn't even twitch. Regulus knows that Unforgivable Curses have to be meant, and he could never mean it. The poor animal is too innocent and doesn't deserve pain.

"Regulus." His mother doesn't say anything else, but her voice is sharp in warning.

He has disappointed her. He is proving to be more like Sirius than anyone would like.

Holding his breath, Regulus raises the wand again, hating the way he shakes. He doesn't want to be afraid, but he is. Afraid of harming the squirrel, afraid of his mother, afraid of being a failure. It's terrifying to have so many expectations piled on.

"I can't."

He is only fourteen. What sort of monster expects a child to torture an animal?

"Bellatrix would have done it without hesitation," his mother says dryly. "Don't you want to be like her?"

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Be like Bellatrix? Never in a million years. She is cold and ruthless, and Regulus isn't sure that she has a heart anymore. Regulus wants to believe that there is still hope for him. He knows he will end up following in Bellatrix's footsteps, but he doesn't want to be like her. When it's all said and done, he wants know that he still has his humanity.

His mother steps forward, drawing her own wand. For one moment of frenzied fear, Regulus worries she might actually curse him. Instead, she aims her wand at the squirrel. "I hope that one day someone tears your heart to pieces like you did mine," she tells him. "Someone who you want only the best for. I hope they destroy you so that you know how much you have hurt your mother's heart. _Crucio._"

Regulus looks away, too much of a coward to see the squirrel in pain. It shrieks and squeals, but there is nothing Regulus can do to help it.

And then it's over, and his mother's fingers dig roughly into his shoulder. "Release it," she says. "I assume you can do that without failing me."

Regulus bow, hanging his head in shame, his dark hair forming a curtain hiding his face. "Yes, Mother," he says, his voice quiet and brittle.

When she's gone, Regulus kneels before the squirrel, his heart breaking. He lifts it gently before reversing the spelling holding it in place. "Don't worry," he tells the frantic animal. "I've got you."

He has to be careful. His mother runs a strict household, and he doesn't even want to think about what she might do to him if she finds out what he's planning. "Shh," he says, carefully hiding the squirrel in his vest. "Shh. It's okay. It will be okay."

He makes his way to his room, grateful that no one stops him or even notices that he's up to anything. Regulus shuts the door behind him, frowning. Sunlight shines in from the window, and he quickly draws the curtains closed. Even though no one can see into his room, he feels like he needs total privacy for this, like his mother will somehow now that he is hiding something.

Regulus retrieves a box and adds a taupe sheet, frowning. It isn't much, but it will have to do for now. Carefully, he pulls the squirrel from its hiding place. "At least there's a silver lining," he says. "You got hurt, but you're going to be okay. We're going to figure this out, okay?"

With a wave of his wand, he creates a lid to keep the squirrel there. Once it calms down, Regulus will work with it until it's ready to be his pet.

His mother will kill him if she finds out, but he doesn't care. Some risks are worth taking.


	27. Changes and Chances (Lucius)

_Word Count: 678_

* * *

_"Cissa, don't do this." Lucius is a proud man, but, in this moment, he doesn't care. He will gladly beg if it will make Narcissa stay._

_She shakes her head. "I was always taught there's good in everyone, but you've proved me wrong."_

_Lucius flinches. Is he really so bad? He has made a lot of foolish decisions, but he wants to believe that he isn't terrible. _

_Narcissa looks at him like he's something vile, like he is scum from the pond, not worth her time. _

...

The separation isn't going well for him. Lucius has always prided himself on being the absolute best. Now, however, he is anything but. His hair has lost its shine, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He doesn't care. Not really.

He stares at the photograph clutched in his trembling hand. They had been so happy once. Narcissa smiles at the camera, laughing as Lucius steals a kiss.

He sets the photograph aside, grabbing the bottle of firewhiskey and taking a deep drink. He's never cared much for alcohol before. The burn of it, and the way it clouds his mind has always steered him away from it. In all his years, he's never had more than just a glass. Now, he can't keep track.

Eventually the gold will run out, and he will be miserable and sober, but, for now, at least he has something to make him forget the loneliness, if only for a moment.

...

_She says she needs a fresh start. Maybe he doesn't blame her. She has been dragged down by his affiliation with the Dark Lord, and she deserves so much better._

_Had she known she would be taking a chance when she married him? The Malfoy name had once been so good, so unshakable. Now he's thrown it all away and ruined everything._

_"I wish you would reconsider," he tells her._

_"Our love is dead, Lucius," she says with a sigh. "There isn't any point in pretending anymore."_

…

"Honestly, Father, how can you live like this?"

Lucius barely even acknowledges his son. He knows that Draco is there, but he is too ashamed to speak.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Draco demands, jerking Lucius' liquor bottle away. "Honestly, you look like you were mauled by a hippogriff, eaten, and then shat out."

"I'm sure I deserve that," Lucius mutters. "Leave me be."

He's lucky that his son is visiting at all. Draco should hate him just as much as Narcissa does. Lucius never intended for Draco to get caught up in his mess. Maybe it was always inevitable, but it isn't what Lucius wanted.

He's zoned out so much that he barely even notices Draco has left the room until he returns with a cup filled with steaming coffee. "Drink this. Maybe it will help you sober up."

Lucius accepts it, staring at the dark brown liquid within. "There's no reason for being sober," he says flatly.

"You miss Mother."

Lucius' lips twitch into an almost smile. He sighs. "Things were food for a while… yeah," he says wistfully. "I should have done more to keep her."

"Well, you're in luck. If you can change, she will meet with you this weekend."

Lucius neatly spills his coffee. The words are more potent than any amount of caffeine could ever be. He is alert in an instant. "She… What? Are you sure?"

"I've spoken with her. But she has to know that you can change," Draco says.

That's the problem. He _has _changed, but it isn't for the better. His life has spiraled, and he isn't sure what to do anymore.

But there's a chance. He's changed once, so why can't he do it again?

"I want to try," he says.

He's tired of being so lonely, of only having his thoughts and memories for company. He misses Narcissa more than he could ever say, and if he can have her back, he will do whatever it takes.

"I will try." He shakes his head. No, trying isn't good enough. "I will change."


	28. Evidence (Luna)

_Word Count: 724_

* * *

There are those in this world who hate waking up early. Luna is not one of them. Without any assistance, she wakes at half past five in the morning, stretching and grinning. It's going to be a good day; she can feel it in her bones.

She climbs out of bed, dressing quickly and leaving her hotel room. The hallways are empty and quiet. Perfect. She's always found that people asking too many questions can make her days all funny. She doesn't know why. It's just one of those strange, unexplainable facts.

It doesn't take long to reach the entrance to the nearby forest. Luna stares up at the lingering stars in the sky, sticking her tongue out as she ponders. It is important that her calculations are precise. The fact that she has always been a few degrees off is why she is still in Belgium. If she had found the proper entrance, she would have already found what she came here for and moved on to the next new adventure.

"Let's see," she mutters, glancing at her journal as she moves carefully over the rocks and roots that litter the ground. "Aha! Here we are!"

It isn't far from where she entered the previous morning, but it's enough of a difference that it had thrown her whole day off. Still, she hadn't minded. Luna loves being out here, searching for significant evidence that her father's creatures are real. So far, she hasn't had much luck, but she has found traces, and that has to mean something.

A breeze picks up, making the already chilly morning a little colder. With a shiver, Luna adjusts her scarf. It doesn't fight the cold, but it helps.

Taking a deep breath, she steps inside, her heart racing with excitement. Yes, this is the right path. She can feel the soft energy of the place vibrate all around, calling out to her like a siren's song. She's absolutely delight as a subtle warmth washes over her.

All she has to do now is walk.

…

The sun is not yet high in the sky when she finally takes a break. Luna hasn't brought her watch, so she isn't sure exactly what time it is, but she imagines it must be around ten. It's a little late, but she opens the packet of dried fruit and chocolate-covered almonds, nibbling at them as she takes a seat in the lush green grass.

"Oh, hello there," she says when she notices the spider on the rock by her foot. "Have you seen a creature around here, dear friend? He's much bigger than you, covered in feathers? Oh!" The spider scurries away, and Luna watches it, frowning. "Sorry to startle you."

With a shrug, she opens her notebook again, studying the pages on the Grey-Billed Pipslebone. There are notes from one of her father's Belgian contacts, insisting that he's seen one in these very woods. Luna has to believe; this isn't the sort of thing that people just make up. Just because the creature is rare, people assume it doesn't exist.

Luna finishes her breakfast. She is still hungry, and she hopes she will be out before lunch. As delicious as fruit, almonds, and chocolate are, she needs something a little more substantial.

She tucks the empty plastic wrapper in her backpack and climbs to her feet. If her calculations are correct, she should be about an hour or so away from the likely nesting area… Assuming it isn't migration time. She's cut it close, so there may be no hope in the end.

She starts her trek, only to stop a few yards from her previous resting place. Eyes wide, she kneels, a grin on her lips. Most people may not care about feathers, but Luna is drawn in by the color. Olive with streaks of silver, radiant in a way that ordinary feathers could never be. She looks at her notes, though she's already memorized the section on physical appearance from reading it so many times.

This feather matches the description perfect. With a squeal of delight, Luna tucks it safely away in her journal, securing it with a quick charm.

It doesn't matter if she finds the nesting area now. She has the feather, and that is all the proof she needs.

Her father will be so proud.


	29. The Price of Curiosity (Rita)

_Word Count: 831_

* * *

"Tell me, Gilderoy," Rita says with a smile. "What's your secret?"

He grins at that, waving his wand and summoning a fresh jug of cider. "You know what they say, don't you?" he chuckles, pouring her another glass. "Curiosity killed the cat, my love."

"Yes," she agrees, shrugging. "But did you ever know that there's more to the saying?"

His eyes shine with amusement at that. "Is there?" He raises his brows and adjusts the sleeve of his periwinkle robes. "Clever as you are, I'm not surprised that you would know that. What's the rest of it?"

Rita smiles mischievously and leans in, catching his hand in hers. "Satisfaction brought it back," she says, and there's a hint of a purr in her voice.

…

Gilderoy is hiding something. Rita may not have been a Ravenclaw, but she still prides herself on being intelligent and observant. She's seen the subtle tells that Gilderoy has.

He can hide with his charm and smile all he likes. Rita will still get to the bottom of it.

She climbs out of bed, waving her wand and straightening the perfectly white sheets with a flick of her wand. Gilderoy slumbers on. It isn't surprising, really. She slipped him enough of sleeping potion to make an Erumpent have a nice little nap. She should be free for a little while.

It really is a shame to have to dig like this. She finds herself between a rock and a hard place. Gilderoy is charming and lovely, and _Witch Weekly _has called them a power couple. Rita really does like him, and it seems like an awful shame to ruin his career.

But she is still a journalist, and emotions have no place in this line of work. If one of the biggest names in the wizarding world is hiding something, the public has a right to know.

…

It takes two hours, but she finally finds what she's looking for. Stashed away in the hall closet, hidden in a box where no one would ever think to look, are notes on Gilderoy's books…

Except they tell a different story. Gilderoy is not the hero in these, but just a storyteller, collecting epic adventures to share with the world. Whoever the real people are, something must have happened to make them not come forward.

"Was it Draught of Living Death this time?"

The voice startles her. Rita drops the pages, and they scatter out. She turns, heart racing as she sees Gilderoy behind her. "This time?"

"You do this every time." He shakes his head. "It would probably be kinder to just sever ties with you and go on with my life, but here we are. Here we always are."

"I don't… I don't understand," she whispers.

But maybe she does. At least, partially. Something about this feels eerily familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it. It almost feels like a dream, like something lost in a fog of confusion that she almost remembers but not quite.

"You're a liar," she says. "A liar and con artist…"

"I assure you, you've called me worse." He steps closer, lifting his wand. His eyes flicker briefly to the notes at her feet. "Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably. Well… Definitely. The world needs a hero, my love. Surely you understand that."

"Not like this. What sort of hero lies and manipulates people like this?" she demands, her eyes fixed on his wand.

Gilderoy laughs. "Oh, do you have a high horse to sit upon?" he counters, smirking. "Not exactly the poster child of morality, are you? Don't worry. This won't hurt."

"Are you going to kill me?" She hates how weak her voice sounds. She doesn't want to be afraid.

"Hardly. I'll see you tomorrow. _Obliviate!_"

…

Rita's head aches as she opens her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. "How much did I drink last night?" she groans, sitting up and rubbing her temples.

She makes a mental note to remind Gilderoy not to let her have more than one glass of wine next time. Having to drink a hangover potion for breakfast at her age is ridiculous.

Miserable, she makes her way to her desk, pausing and frowning as she notices a note. The elegant handwriting is her own, but she can't remember writing anything down.

**DO NOT TRUST HIM. REMEMBER! URGENT!**

She doesn't remember. Not really. But there are flickers.

_A box._

_Liar._

_Obliviate. _

_And through it all, she can see Gilderoy's dazzling smile._

Rita isn't sure what it all means. She is a journalist, not a Seer, and this doesn't make sense at all. Still, it puts her on edge and fills her with a sense of dread.

There is a story here. She isn't sure what it is, only that Gilderoy is involved somehow.

Rita grabs her glasses and puts them on, carefully adjusting them. One way or another, she will get to the bottom of this.


	30. Middle Ground (Andromeda)

_Word Count: 652_

* * *

It's late. Andromeda isn't quite sure how late, but she knows it's past curfew, and she's lucky no one has caught her. Still, she's smiling as she nears the dungeons.

Ted always leaves her with a smile on her face. She knows she shouldn't love him, that she should be repulsed by him. She isn't. He may be a Muggleborn, but he is good and kind, and he looks at her like maybe she's the most important thing in the world.

She isn't supposed to have a choice in who she marries, but she doesn't care. Ted has talked about running away with her and marrying her whenever they finish school, and she thinks he means it. He has never been dishonest, and she can't help but believe him.

Except it won't be easy. Her family is strict and traditional, and she is supposed to be good and follow their every rule. That means marrying whoever they see fit and never daring to complain about it. Once, she might have been okay with that. Ted has changed everything and made her think that it would be nice to let go and make her own decisions.

The thought is terrifying. Does she follow her heart or stay with her family?

She's still considering her future when she enters the common room. It's almost empty. Almost, except for her older sister.

Bellatrix sits on the couch, long legs crossed. She tosses a dice between her hands, catching it so skillfully that Andromeda wonders if she's ever considered being a Seeker. Bellatrix's dark eyes find Andromeda's. There is no gentleness in them, and the smile she offers Andromeda is chilling. "Hello, sister," she says. "Bit late to be out, isn't it?"

_She doesn't know anything, _Andromeda tells herself. _As long as I don't say a word, she'll never know._

"I couldn't sleep," Andromeda says with a shrug.

"Probably because you haven't been to bed," Bellatrix says. "Monique Quirke said she hasn't seen you since before dinner. Where have you been?"

That isn't ideal. Andromeda isn't sure what to say. She hadn't expected Bellatrix to call her bluff. "Monique must be mistaken."

Bellatrix lets the dice fall to the table. She rises, eyes narrowing. "I'm going to give you one chance to come clean," she says, her voice low and threatening. "I would take it if I were you."

Andromeda wonders what would happen if she denied it. Would Bellatrix know the truth somehow? Would she press until Andromeda finally cracked? Andromeda knows all too well how persuasive her sister can be.

"Andi, you're my best friend," Bellatrix says. "You know I don't want you to get hurt. I'm only trying to look out for you."

Telling the truth is equally terrifying. Andromeda can only imagine what Bellatrix would do to Ted if she knew. There had been a Muggleborn who had sent Narcissa a love letter. Narcissa had called it sweet; Bellatrix had hexed the poor bastard, though no one could prove it was her.

Neither option seems good, so Andromeda finds a middle ground. "I was hoping to meet a boy," she says. "He… I guess he wasn't actually interested in me. I was stupid, but I kept hoping he would show up."

"Oh, Andi…" Bellatrix pulls her into a hug, stroking her hair. "This is why Mother and Father will choose your husband. You may think people are good, but they really aren't."

"I know," Andromeda says. "I know."

When she pulls away, the relief is visible in Bellatrix's face. Maybe she had suspected, but Andromeda has set her mind at ease. "Come. You really need to get some sleep."

Andromeda nods, following her sister. She hadn't told the truth, not tonight. One day, she will. One day, she will be brave enough to be honest, to make that difficult decision without fear of consequence.

For now, however, Ted will be her secret.


	31. Family We Find (Kingsley, Sirius)

_Word Count: 6938_

* * *

i.

It's cold, but Kingsley doesn't dare light a fire in the fireplace. He's learned his lesson the hard way. The infected–the Death Eaters–are drawn to any hint of life, including heat. Only a month before, he and his traveling companion, Nymphadora had stopped for the night and started a fire. She had taken the first watch as Kingsley slept. It hadn't taken long for her screams to wake him. Helpless, he had watched her slowly get torn to pieces by the bloodthirsty monsters before managing to put a merciful bullet in her head and running. He'd left all his supplies except his trusty pistol.

He shivers, dropping his backpack to the floor of the abandoned farmhouse. The place smells like death; he doesn't bother looking upstairs because he can imagine the massacre perfectly. Either some poor bastard was killed by the infected, or he had the guts to end his life on his own terms. Still, Kingsley doesn't think he can stomach anymore carnage tonight. His trek to the farmhouse had been laced with mangled bodies and peppered with blood splatters and bits of organs.

His stomach growls. He unzips his bag, digging through it. His rations are getting low; he makes a note to raid the pantry in the morning. For now, he settles on a meal of beef jerky and canned pears. It isn't warm or filling, but it will keep him alive a little longer.

Not that being alive is a good thing. At least, it isn't now. The world has gone to hell, and he thinks it might be wiser to put his gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

A dry, bitter laugh escapes his lips. He's always been told that suicide is coward's way out, but he isn't so sure anymore. God knows he's spent night after night, fantasizing about it. Maybe it's the easy route, but it sounds so much better than this hellhole.

The country has fallen into anarchy. Many of those not infected have turned into cities into war zones. His own hometown had been overrun by a group of young and stupid university students who somehow managed to get their hands on military-grade weapons. Kingsley's hopes of laying low and riding it out in the comfort of his own home has been destroyed the moment the tear gas canister had broken the living room window.

It doesn't matter now. He's left that town behind him, and he has to focus on what's ahead. Sticking to tiny towns and following backroads has worked for him so far. With a little luck, he'll be able to make it to Wales. He's heard whispers of a sanctuary city near Cardiff. Maybe those whispers won't amount to anything, but he has to try. At the very least, it gives him a sense of purpose. When everything else has been taken from him, he needs _something, anything _to keep from breaking down.

Kingsley tosses his bag onto the coffee table, obscuring old issues of a farming magazine. With a heavy sigh, he collapses onto the couch and examines the afghan that's draped over the back. It's dusty and smells stale, but he smiles at the array of color crocheted into neat squares. Granny squares, he remembers. His bibi had made one for him when he was younger. Kingsley had laughed then and said it was for girls. He would give anything for that blanket now, or his bibi, or anyone else in his family. But they're gone now, and Kingsley is hopelessly alone.

Salty tears burn his eyes. Kingsley sniffles but doesn't bother to wipe him away. Instead, he grabs the afghan and drapes it over his body. It doesn't cover him completely, but the subtle weight of it and its warmth are more comforting than anything else has been in a long time.

He's tired, but he isn't sleepy. Heavy eyes fix upon the ceiling overhead, and he lets his mind wander.

_The first time they hear about the Riddle Virus, they're sitting around the dinner table. His father has the TV on, though his mother insists that British news is bad for the appetite, that her native village in Africa would never air such misery while families are trying to eat. For once, she doesn't complain. She is far too happy to have Kingsley home for the weekend._

_"Are they feeding you at that university?" she asks, adding an extra scoop of rice to his plate before pouring more stew over it than Kingsley could even think about eating. "You look so thin."_

_Kingsley resists the urge to roll his eyes. She means well, but she always frets. Still, he can't complain. He's missed this more than he'll ever admit._

_"In other news, a new virus seems to have popped up in London," the news reporter announces before Kingsley can tease his mother for worrying too much. "Called the Riddle Virus, this mysterious illness doesn't seem serious at the moment. The two infected have reported fever, chills, and muscle ache. Though these symptoms are common with the flu, tests have come back negative."_

_"See?" His mother rounds on his father, lips pursed and hands on her hips. "What did I tell you, Percival? English news is dreadful."_

_His father laughs. "It's just a little virus, Hawa," he tells her. "What's so dreadful about that?"_

…

_It takes less than a week to learn exactly how dangerous the virus is. The news reports new symptoms. The infected have shown signs of aggression. One nameless patient managed to bite three nurses and a janitor before being restrained and sedated. _

_"Doesn't sound good," Kingsley notes as the TV cuts back to the news desk._

_His father shakes his head. "You sound like Hawa," he says, shaking his head. "Always worrying."_

_Kingsley wants to point out that this _does _sound worrisome. The country isn't prepared for a new epidemic, and that's exactly what this seems like. He doesn't argue. His father is a stubborn man, and it would do no good._

…

_Another week passes, and his father starts to look concerned. The virus has spread through bites. Unfortunately, so many have been infected that they can't keep track of them all. Only a small few have willingly turned themselves in after being bitten._

_"It's going to be okay," his father says. "London is a ways away. It won't reach us."_

_Kingsley wonders if his father is trying to convince himself or the rest of them. _

_"I think we should leave," his mother tells them, pushing the noodles around absently on her plate. "Siti would happily take us in until this blows over."_

_"Leave the country?" his father asks incredulously. "Leave the continent? It's nothing, Hawa. We're safe, okay? Besides, I have a shop to run."_

_Kingsley wonders if it would be best to leave. Auntie Siti is a rough woman, and the idea of living with her makes him shudder, but maybe it would be safer. Still, if his father says they're safe, he will believe him._

_._

Kingsley wakes with a start. He shivers as he sits up, the blanket sliding form his chest and pulling into a rainbow pile in his lap. His breathing is unsteady, and his heart hammers painfully in his chest.

Nightmares again. He hates it. It seems like he wakes up in a panic every morning, and there doesn't seem to be anything he can do about it.

With a sigh, he illuminates his wristwatch. The neon green numbers tell him that it's four in the morning, which means it's too late to go back to sleep. He sets the blanket aside and climbs to his feet, stretching with a groan. It's been over a month since he's found a proper bed to sleep in, and it's really taking its toll on his body. His bones shift, and he hears a faint _pop _in his back, but it brings very little relief.

It doesn't matter if he's sore and aching. He has to keep moving. Staying still for too long is a death sentence.

He grabs his backpack from the table and makes his way to the kitchen. There's stench in the air from the pile of dirty dishes–now overtaken by mold–in the sink. It barely even fazes him. By now, Kingsley is so used to the smell of dead bodies and gore that the scent of rotten food is almost a relief.

He doesn't waste time. There's no use checking the fridge; anything perishable has long since expired. The pantry provides a nice bounty. He wishes he could take it all with him, but his bag is small, and he doesn't need to be weighed down too much. He grabs cans without paying attention to what they contain. Food is food, and that's all that matters. He drops the can into his bag, filling it partially before moving on.

A quick sweep of the kitchen and living yields fairly good results. There's a dim torch in one of the drawers, and a pack of batteries stashed away beneath some bills. He finds a pocket knife and a small first aid kit. It isn't much, but it gives him a better chance of making it out alive.

He slings the pack over his shoulder, studying the couch for a moment. The afghan isn't practical. It only provides a bit of extra warmth, and it won't fit easily in his bag. Though it isn't too bulky, carrying it could prove quite difficult.

And yet he can't put it out of his mind. It's ridiculous and illogical. Why should he feel sentimental over the afghan? Because it reminds him of his bibi? It isn't hers, and he shouldn't have any emotional attachment to it.

Even so, he grabs the brightly-colored blanket and folds it carefully and drapes it over his shoulder. Maybe it isn't his bibi's work, but it doesn't matter. The world is crashing all around them. It only seems right that he has something that reminds him of home.

ii.

James watches him. Sirius tries not to hate him for it, but it makes him feel like a naughty child who can't be trusted.

Maybe it's valid. Any man in Sirius' position would be just as fucked up in the head. Losing his brother had been a nightmare; the swarm of Death Eaters that had separated them had been too great. In the end, Sirius could only find the locket Regulus carried around for luck. No body, no funeral. No closure.

And now his world continues to crumble. Remus… _His _Remus is gone.

"Sirius?"

Sirius doesn't even realize he's crying until James pulls him out of his thoughts. His cheeks are slick with tears, and he can't seem to stop now that it's started. All he can do is sniffle and swipe his palms miserably over his face, trying to dry the tears as best he can.

"I'm fine."

James laughs, but the sound is dry and hollow. He adjusts his glasses. "You're not fine," he says, sitting across from Sirius and taking his hand. "You know you're not. But it's okay to not be okay."

Sirius resists the urge to roll his eyes. That's the sort of nonsense his school counselor told him when he was young and Uncle Alphard died. Maybe it's a nice sentiment, but it doesn't make him feel better. He doesn't tell James that. James has spent the past two days as close to Sirius as possible. The least Sirius can do is pretend that it's helping, that the company is keeping him from going over the edge.

It isn't. For the past month, he's woken in a cold sweat, throat raw from screaming. Honestly, it's a miracle the infected haven't been drawn in by his nightly panic.

Regulus is gone. Remus is dead. Maybe it's selfish, but Sirius can't help feeling like he has nothing left. Even if he knows he has James, it isn't the same.

"Chicken," James asks, pulling out a can from his bag, "or ham salad?"

Neither sound appetizing. Sirius can't bring himself to think of food. He shrugs before leaning back and resting against the tree trunk. "I'm not hungry."

"You've got to eat," James says. "Remus wouldn't wouldn't want this for you."

Sirius signs heavily and closes his eyes. Unfortunately, James is right, but that doesn't mean Sirius can force himself to change. It isn't that easy. Nothing is simple anymore.

.

_Regulus rushes in, eyes widening. He's covered in blood, but he doesn't seem to be injured. When he bursts through Sirius' door, he drops to his knees and hunches over, throwing up._

_"What the hell happened?" Sirius asks._

_"Mother… Death Eater."_

_Regulus doesn't have to say anything more. They've seen the news and heard about the Riddle Virus. When their mother had fallen ill, something told Sirius it was only a matter of time._

_"Did she bite you?"_

_The younger boy shakes his head. "She tried. I grabbed Father's cricket bat and…"_

_"Go wash up," Sirius says, sparing his brother from having to rehash the details. Sirius hates their mother, but he knows Regulus had been close. He does not share his brother's grief, but that won't stop him from looking out for him. "Put some clean clothes on."_

_"Where are we going?"_

_Sirius wishes he had an answer. They have a summer home near Glasgow, but he hasn't been in years and can barely remember where it is. Hell, he isn't sure what city it's in. All he knows is they can't stay here. The virus is spreading so quickly that two hospitals have been quarantined. There's no hope left for anyone._

_"We have to get out of the city," is all he can say. "Pack light. We're leaving in half an hour."_

…

_James Potter is a necessity. He and Sirius had been best friends in school, and Sirius doesn't hesitate to stop by his house. There's little convincing to be done. His parents passed away a year before, and he has nothing to keep him here. "Probably for the best," he says, ruffling his dark hair and leaving it messy. _

_Remus Lupin, on the other hand, is a pleasant surprise. They find him in an abandoned petrol station, camped out in an aisle and nibbling a chocolate bar. Regulus says they should leave him. Too many people in a group can be dangerous. Sirius suspects the other man's scars also unnerve his brother._

_He can't just walk away. There's something about him that draws Sirius in._

_"He's coming with us," Sirius decides._

…

_It isn't the life he thought he would live, but he finds himself content. Everything is falling apart, and death seems to hang over their heads, taunting them without mercy, but he is okay._

_He has his best friend, his brother, and a potential love interest. If this is what the apocalypse is, he's ready._

.

He doesn't realize he's dozed off until he wakes, screaming. He's always screaming, it seems.

Sirius wipes his hand over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. He looks over and sees James bundled up and appears as little more than a silhouette in the moonlight.

"I'm keeping guard," James says, glancing over at him. "You can sleep."

James has kept guard ever since Remus… Sirius shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about that, not when sleep is so close and he's prone to nightmares. James has taken over guard duty lately, and Sirius wonders when's the last time he actually slept through the night.

Sleeping sounds terrible, anyway. Every time his eyes close, he remembers, and all he wants to do is forget. He climbs to his feet and makes his way over, stirring across from his friend. "I'm not completely useless, mate," he says, reaching for the pistol in James' hand.

James pulls away, and there's something almost apologetic about the guilt in his hazel eyes. Sirius gets it. He's a bit unhinged, and James is so afraid he's going to do something stupid. It's tempting, of course. If he ends it all, he doesn't have to keep living in this hell. He doesn't know if there's an afterlife, but, if there is, maybe it means he can see Remus and Regulus again.

Still, he knows he's too much of a coward to do it. He wants to, but something seems to hold him back.

"Sorry," James mutters.

Sirius shrugs and sighs. "Don't be."

Silence hangs between them, and Sirius hates it. He and James have been best friends since they were eleven. These moments of silence shouldn't feel so strained and tense. It's Sirius' fault, of course. He should have been better, stronger, so many other things.

"You're doing it again."

Sirius glances down at his hands. He hadn't even realized he'd been digging his nails into his palm. Cheeks burning, he straightens his fingers and studies the the crescents pressed into his skin. "I think I'm a little fucked up," he says.

James grin is bright in the starlight. "I've known that for years," he teases.

And, in that brief, blessed moment, Sirius can forget where he is. Things are light and okay, and they have traveled back in time to some distant point where the world isn't over, where they are normal and free.

It fades in an instant when they hear the growling in the treeline. Sirius sits up straight, straining his ears. "One?"

James pursed his lips, tilting his head so that he can hear better. "One," he confirms, putting his pistol away and replacing it with a hammer.

Films always show guns in the zombie apocalypse, but it hadn't taken them long to realize how wrong the films were. Guns are fine and well when there's a swarm of them and you need to take out as many as possible. Most times, something close-range is best. Besides, the noise from a gun is like ringing a dinner bell; one shot is all it takes to draw in a hoard of Death Eaters.

"I'll be back," James says.

Sirius shakes his head and climbs to his feet. "I'm coming with you."

"I don't think it's a good idea. Not after…"

.

_"I'm sorry," Remus says, dropping to his knees._

_Sirius doesn't have to ask why he's apologizing. The wound on his arm is too distinct, and they've become familiar with that awful pattern. He's been bitten. It's all over._

_He knows what has to be done, but he can't do it. Even though he's put plenty of people out of their misery in the name of mercy, he can't kill someone he cares about. _

_"Sirius, please…"_

_Tears cling to Sirius lashes. He shakes his head. "Don't make me do this, Remus," he says. "I'm begging you."_

_Remus reaches out, gripping Sirius' hand. The touch is so different from what Sirius is used to. Remus is meant to be soft and gentle. Now he is desperate, and he squeezes so tightly, like he's afraid of what letting go might mean. _

_It isn't fair. He knows how childish that thought is, but he doesn't care; it's true. _

_"Do you know how much it would hurt me?" Sirius whispers. _

_Remus' features soften at that. His lips tug into a pained frown, and tears swim in his amber eyes. "I know." He looks away for a brief moment, sighing heavily as he returns his gaze to Sirius. "I don't want to become a monster."_

_Sirius sucks in a deep breath. As he exhales, it sounds more like he's choking. "Remus…"_

_The other man climbs to his feet once again and closes the distance between them. "I don't want to leave you, and I hate having to ask this of you." He wraps his arms around Sirius and holds him close. "I need you."_

_There's no way around this. Either it ends now, on Remus' terms, or it ends after Remus undergoes the painful transformation and reaches the point of no return. Maybe this is kinder; if only it didn't hurt so damn bad. _

_"Okay," Sirius says. "I'll do it. Do you want to say goodbye to James first?"_

_Remus shakes his head. "I don't need any more reasons to put this off," he answers. "I love you."_

_"I love you too. Close your eyes, my love."_

_. _

Taking out the Death Eater proves to be ridiculously easy. Armed with a machete, Sirius doesn't bother waiting for James' command. He lunges forward, burying the sharpened blade into the thing's skull. It drops. Sirius isn't done.

He lifts the machete again before letting it fall. The bone makes a sickening _cracking _sound as the blade makes contact a second time, then a third time, and a fourth.

He can't bring himself to stop. Again and again, he brings the machete down, an angry scream spilling from his throat. The world shouldn't be like this. Remus and Regulus shouldn't be dead. Everything shouldn't be so fucked up. It's too much, and he doesn't think he can take it anymore.

"Sirius! Sirius, stop!"

James' arms are around him, and Sirius thrashes about, trying to throw him off. It doesn't work, but he doesn't care. He continues to fight and struggle. If he can keep moving, maybe it won't hurt so much. Maybe his demons won't haunt him.

But James is stubborn and doesn't give up. He wrestles the machete from Sirius. "Get off me!" Sirius snaps, but the grip only tightens. "I don't need you!"

"Tough shit," James says dryly. "I'm not going anywhere."

The anger fades in an instant, and Sirius becomes cold as overwhelming dread sets in. Those are kind words, and be knows James means them, but he shouldn't say them. Nothing is promised, and he knows how easily his best friend could be taken from him.

He stops resisting and turns, slumping against James and resting his head against his chest. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know what he's apologizing for, but he knows it will never be enough.

iii.

It's getting colder. Kingsley can't remember the last time he's seen a calendar, but he guesses it's probably around October or November. He pauses and adjusts the afghan around his body. It seems like a lifetime ago that he found the cozy blanket, though he knows it can't have been more than a few weeks.

His legs ache. A burning pain shoots up his calf, and he wants nothing more than to stop. It isn't an option. Stopping is a good way to get himself killed, especially out in the open. If the Death Eaters don't happen upon him, he's certain bandits will. There's no law and order left in this world, and he doesn't like his chances.

He pushes himself, wondering how much more of this he can take. There's still a part of him that wants to stop and give up, but he drowns that out by focusing on why he's still moving. Cardiff is waiting for him. He will find a home there, and everything will be okay. He just has to believe, and it will happen. His parents never raised a quitter. It doesn't matter that they aren't around now; Kingsley will not let them down.

.

_His father is the first to go. Kingsley and his mother are inside the house, waiting anxiously for him to return. There's a curfew in place, and his father is cutting it a little too close for comfort._

_"I'm sure he will be fine," his mother says softly, but Kingsley can hear the way her voice trembles, betraying her fear. She is good at wearing a brave face, but there's only so much any of them can take. How long before she breaks?_

_Kingsley makes his way closer and wraps his arm around her, pulling her into a hug. Neither of them speak. The silence between them is tense and heavy, but he doesn't know how to break it. _

_Movement outside the window catches his eye, and Kingsley's heart race. It's his father. Blood stains his grey shirt, and his dark eyes are wild. "Hawa!" he calls. "Hawa, let me in."_

_When his mother takes a step toward the door, Kingsley gently grabs her by the shoulder and shakes his head. "He's been bitten," he says. "It's too dangerous."_

_"Kingsley…"_

_"We can't."_

_She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, there are tears clinging to her lashes. "I'm sorry, my love," she calls out. "Find the soldiers. They can take you to get treatment."_

_Kingsley clenches his jaw. He knows it isn't that simple, though he wonders if she is aware of it. There is no cure, and he's almost certain that treatments look more like something out of a mad scientist film. He imagines the infected strapped to the tables while masked doctors linger over them with scalpels._

_He shudders, his stomach sick at the thought of it. He can only hope that the world is kinder, that his father will meet a bullet before he meets a butcher._

_"I'm sorry," his mother says again, and she keeps saying it over and over again until Kingsley draws the curtains and pulls her away._

_"I'll fix you some tea."_

…

_The Riddle Virus doesn't take his mother. Instead, trouble finds her when a woman with dark curls and a wicked grin breaks into the house._

_"We don't mean you any harm," his mother says. She has always been an optimist, so desperate to believe that there is good in everyone._

_The stranger is clearly an exception to the rule. She doesn't even blink before drawing a gun and pulling the trigger._

_Kingsley acts on impulse. He doesn't care that this psycho is armed and that he has been taught to never hit a lady. He lunges with a scream, tackling her to the ground. His mother in his view, unmoving, dead, part of her face blown away._

_Rage overtakes him. He slams the woman's head against the floor again and again, screaming as tears sting his eyes._

_And then it is over and the house is silent, and Kingsley feels the weight of loneliness in the pit of his stomach._

.

"Is someone there?"

The voice startles Kingsley. He's found some houses to not be as abandoned as they look. Most people aren't happy to share, not when resources are so scarce.

"I'm just looking for a place to sleep," Kingsley says.

He hears an audible sigh. After a moment, a young man with dark hair and storm cloud grey eyes staggers in, leaning against the doorway. "Oh, thank God," he says. "Leg's a bit busted, so I would be fucked if you didn't come in peace." He gestures for Kingsley to follow him before turning and moving through the house, his leg stiff and awkward and clearly injured.

"What happened to you?" Kingsley asks.

"I was separated from my brother and his friend. Took a nasty fall while trying to escape the Death Eaters," he explains, sitting on the couch. There's a small feast of canned goods spread out on the table. "I actually think I might have broken my foot. Unfortunately, there are no hospitals anymore, so I can't be sure. It didn't heal properly, I know that much. Add that to a banged up knee…" He trails off, clearing his throat. "Long story short, I'm Regulus, and I'm not dead."

"Kingsley."

Regulus grins. "Well, Kingsley, you're just in time for dinner."

…

Regulus proves to be good company. He tells Kingsley about his life before the virus, about his family, his hopes and dreams. In turn, Kingsley talks about his family and his time at university. It feels strange to talk about a life before this nightmare, to remember that they ever existed in a world where Death Eaters didn't exist, and things were halfway normal.

"You haven't seen my brother, have you? Looks a bit like me except shorter and not as good looking. Would have been with a tall, skinny idiot with messy hair and glasses."

Kingsley shakes his head. He can't remember the last time he's seen anyone at all.

Regulus sighs. "It was worth a shot," he says.

"Where are you heading?" Kingsley asks. "We could partner up for a while."

"Glasgow."

Kingsley frowns, shaking head. "Met an old school teacher named Minerva from that area. She says Scotland has been overrun."

Regulus pales. "That's where my brother is heading." He swallows dryly. "I need to find him."

"You aren't going anywhere alone in your condition," Kingsley tells him.

Regulus scowls at that, folding his arms over his chest. "And where exactly are _you _going?"

"Cardiff."

The younger man laughs. "You're a long way from Cardiff, mate. Didn't think to bring a map?"

"In retrospect, that was a stupid decision on my part," Kingsley admits.

Regulus smirks. "Yeah. A bit. You can always stay here until you get you bearings. Whoever lived here before kept the pantry well stocked. Plenty of farm land. I'd even wager you could hunt in the woods," he says.

Kingsley considers. It's nearly winter. At the very least, he will need a place to stay until spring. He had hoped to make progress on his journey, but it's all been for nothing. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to settle somewhere. It will only be for a few months, of course. After that, he plans to be back on the road, and he won't stop until he reaches the sanctuary city.

"I guess you have a roommate."

iv.

James doesn't let him out of his sight much. Sirius knows he can't blame him. At this point, he is little more than a ticking time bomb.

"It's getting colder," James says, examining the contents of his bag.

Their food is quickly running out. They've tried to ration where they can, and they've taken to splitting most meals between them. It isn't enough. The bag gets lighter and lighter, and it's getting harder to find homes and stores that havent been raided.

If they don't find more food soon, they'll never make it to Glasgow. Not that Sirius knows if he even wants to make it to Scotland anymore. It seems rather hopeless now.

"We'll figure it out," James says, opening a can of mixed fruit and huddling closer to the small fire. "We always do, yeah?"

Sirius almost smiles. He doesn't dare to hope anymore. Still, he plays along to make James feel better. "Yeah. We always do."

He doesn't want to anymore. He's so tired of figuring it out, of surviving. Letting go would be so peaceful, but he knows James would never let him.

.

_"I'm glad you have James," Regulus says as they keep watch._

_Sirius raises his brows. He's under the impression that his little brother has never cared for his best friend. Why should that change now?_

_Regulus must see the confusion in his eyes. He just laughs. "You're happier when you're with him," he explains. "You're both a couple of chaotic idiots, but, all in all, you make each other better."_

_Sirius smiles at that. James had been the only to know that his parents were cruel to him. He had been the first to learn that Sirius likes blokes. In the end, he came to see James as more of a brother than a friend._

_"He's my best mate," Sirius says, shrugging. _

_"Good."_

_James will never let him down. Even on the roughest days, he knows James will be there for him, and that his presence is enough to make things feel halfway normal as the world falls to pieces._

_._

When morning comes, Sirius is tired, but he doesn't complain. James spends so much time worrying about him; Sirius can't bring himself to make it worse.

They split a can of pineapple chunks between them before packing their things. Sirius feels so weak, but he isn't going to give up. Not now. Not when James is counting on him.

Sirius is all that James has left in this world. Honestly, it has been like that for a long time, since before the virus broke out. Now, though, when the world seems so barren and empty, the reminders are so painful. They are alone in this world, but at least they have each other.

"Wonder if that little chippy is still up and running in Glasgow," James says, grinning. "Remember when we went? Reg ate so many chips that he… Oh. Fuck, Sirius. I'm so sorry."

But Sirius just smiles because he knows James didn't mean anything by it. Besides, isn't that how Regulus would want to be remembered? Smiling and alive, shoving so many chips into his mouth that he nearly chokes. Not the way Sirius last saw him. Not bruised and bleeding and screaming as he struggled to fight against the sea of Death Eaters that enveloped him.

He wraps an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Let's go," he says.

It still hurts. He doesn't think the pain will ever fully heal. But he is moving on; he is learning to live, to mend his wounds as best as he can. It's what Remus and Regulus would have wanted, and he will find a way to honor their memories.

Time will heal him, and he will be okay.

…

He doesn't know how long they've been waking, only that the sun is beginning to dip behind the trees and the air is growing colder. They have stopped to rest twice, but they both know the importance of moving. Staying still for too long spells out death. Death Eaters aren't the only enemies in this new world. They've met their fair share of survivors, and most of them haven't been particularly friendly.

There's a farmhouse in the distance. James points it out, grinning. He adjusts his glasses. "We can probably find a real bed," he says. "Do you remember the last time we had an actual bed?"

"Too long," Sirius says. "I think I've forgotten what beds feel like."

It's a risk, of course. Even though the place is overrun with weeds, and there are no telltale signs of life behind the walls, the house may not be as abandoned as it appears. For all he knows, they could be walking right into a trap.

Sirius wants to believe. Surely there is hope to be found behind that door. If they're lucky, looters won't even have touched it yet. Maybe there will be batteries and food and water and other things that have started to feel more like luxuries that he once took for granted.

His legs ache. His whole body is tired and on the verge of collapse. Despite it all, he doesn't care. A house means shelter and security. This would be the safest he has felt in so long.

James leads the way, climbing over the weathered fence and dropping onto the field. It's a miracle the wood didn't break under his weight; it doesn't look like it will hold up much longer. Sirius is more hesitant, but he climbs it with enough ease. His ankle rolls when he drops, and he swears loudly as fire shoots up his leg.

"It's just twisted," Sirius says before James can fuss over him.

_Just twisted. _Nothing is ever _just _anything. Even the smallest injuries can be life or death.

James shakes his head, offering Sirius his arm. The support isn't perfect, but Sirius can move with a little more ease. They're slower now, but they're making progress and the house is closer.

By the time they reach the porch, the first handful of stars have come out overhead. Perfect timing. At least they won't be out when it gets too dark.

Sirius hobbles up the first few steps, still gripping James' arm for dear life. His movements are awkward and clumsy, and it's a miracle he doesn't fall back and take them both down.

"I get the softest bed," Sirius tells him. "I'm injured."

"You're really gonna milk that, huh

"I'm wounded, James. Don't be rude."

As they finally step on the porch, the door bursts open, and they find themselves staring down the barrel of a fun.

v.

"Wait! Kingsley, no!" Regulus staggers to the door, eyes wide. "That's them! That's… That's my brother."

Kingsley can see the resemblance now. The one with longer hair has the same eyes and nose. The taller one with glasses must be the friend Regulus mentioned. Kingsley relaxes, but he doesn't lower his weapon. "How do I know you haven't been bitten?"

He's just being cautious, but he knows it's the only way to stay alive. Trust is a dangerous thing. He got lucky with Regulus. Over the past week, the two of them have become closer than Kingsley could have ever imagined.

"They're not," Regulus says. "Sirius would be much more distressed if James was bitten. James would have already performed a mercy killing if Sirius was.

Kingsley shrugs. He will trust Regulus. After all, he knows the newcomers better than Kingsley does. If he says they're good, Kingsley won't argue.

Satisfied, Kingsley lowers the gun, sliding it into his holster. "Come on in, then," he says, stepping back over the threshold. "We were just about to have dinner."

The others follow them inside and into the kitchen. Kingsley and Regulus have been trying to make this feel more like home. No more meals in the living room. No more letting the darkness get them down. Kingsley has even found the last of the flowers, not yet killed off by the morning frosts, and placed them in a vase on the kitchen table.

It isn't home. Not really. Home is his mother smiling up at him as she prepares traditional meals from her native village in Africa. Home is his father looking up from his newspaper and offering Kingsley advice that Kingsley never asked for but will treasure anyway. Hell, some days home is even Auntie Siti lecturing him on becoming too _European _and calling Asim, his middle name, to remind him of his roots.

But this is close enough. It is warm and comfortable. Regulus has become family, and this beaten up old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere has become the closest thing to home.

"Is that meat?" James asks, licking his lips. "Actual proper meat that isn't from a can?"

"Deer," Regulus answers. "You should see it. There are so many of them out here. Kingsley shot one this morning."

"We're going to salt the rest so it will keep," Kingsley explains. "It seems the man who lived here before did that. There's so much salt in the cellar."

"And food," Regulus adds, grinning as he lifts the jar of green beans. "Oh, man. There's a strawberry jam. Beautiful. That was my breakfast this morning."

Kingsley chuckles, pulling down the necessary dishes. He fills their glasses with water as Regulus serves the deer.

"To hope," Regulus says, lifting his glass.

"To family," Sirius says.

…

It's late, and Kingsley cannot sleep. They don't have to stand watch. The house has enough little traps set so he will hear anyone who approaches at night.

Still, he makes his way outside, only to find Sirius already on the porch. The other man looks up, offering Kingsley a tired smile. "Nightmares," he explains.

Kingsley sighs. He knows the feeling all too well. _Nightmare _isn't the right word. He's always considered nightmares to be a work of fiction. This is something different. The things he sees when he closes his eyes are memories, burned into his brain from the trauma.

There's a term for it. PTSD. He thinks everyone alive now probably has some form of it. Anyone who doesn't is lucky.

"Wanna talk about it?" Kingsley asks.

Sirius shakes his head. "Not really. Talking means it's real."

Kingsley's lips twitch. "It's real whether you talk about it or not," he points out. "But I respect that. We all cope in our own ways."

"Thank you for looking after Regulus," Sirius whispers.

"I assure you, he looked after me too," Kingsley says. "He's a good kid."

Sirius smiles at that. "The best. I thought I lost him."

"Are you staying?" Kingsley asks. "Regulus said you were going to Glasgow, but, from what I hear, you're as good as dead if you step foot in that place."

"This is where Regulus is," Sirius says. "Where my heart is. That means this is home for as long as you'll have me." He stretches, yawning. In the moonlight, Kingsley can see how heavy his grey eyes are. "I suppose I should probably try to sleep again."

Kingsley sighs, nodding. Sleeping is the worst part. He wonders if the memories will ever fade. Surely they have to. Eventually. One day. It can't stay like this forever.

The two of them head back in. The house is so quiet at night that Kingsley can hear the snoring from upstairs. "See you in the morning," he tells Sirius.

Sirius offers him a mock salute. "Sleep well," he says before climbing the stairs.

Kingsley sits on the couch, wrapping the granny square afghan around him. He likes sleeping down here. It makes him feel like a protector, and there are three valuable lives above him that he will give his life for. He hasn't known Regulus for long; James and Sirius are still strangers. And yet they are all he has in this cold, cruel world. They are his family, and family is everything.

He stretches out on the couch, smiling. "Goodnight, brothers," he murmurs. "Goodnight."


	32. Make Believe (Rabdromeda)

_For Sara_

_Word Count: 1202_

* * *

_ten minutes after _

He never actually expected for them to win. Now that they have, Rabastan isn't sure what to do with himself. He stands in the crowd, numb as he stares at Harry Potter's body, paraded around as the Dark Lord laughs with fiendish glee.

"We did it," Rodolphus says, grinning at him.

Rabastan doesn't return the grin. They are victorious, and the world is theirs for the taking. He should be thrilled, of course. This is what he signed up for. This is what he's supposed to want.

Except he doesn't. He only ever joined so that his brother would be proud of him.

When he runs, no one calls out for him; no asks him where he's going or why he doesn't celebrate.

…

She screams when she sees him. Rabastan holds his hands up, desperate for her to understand that he isn't a thread. "It's over, Andi," he tells her. "Merlin… It…"

He takes a deep breath, hating the way it trembles when he exhales. He tells her everything, even the parts he knows will hurt her the most. During the battle, he _had _tried to keep Bellatrix away from Tonks because she was Andromeda's daughter, and the thought of Andromeda suffering was too much. In the end, he had failed.

"What do you want from me?" she asks, dark eyes narrowing at him.

"They're coming for you," he says. "Bellatrix has had a price on your head for a very long time. Her death did not erase that."

Andromeda closes her eyes, tears falling and leaving a glistening trail down her cheeks. After several moments, she opens them again. "You didn't answer my question."

"You already know what I want."

It's what he's always wanted. He had been too scared to embrace it, to put her before his own selfish desire for glory and power. Still, he had never stopped loving her, had never stopped trying to keep her safe.

"You can bring the boy," he tells her.

_one day after_

Rabastan has never wanted children. They're loud and smelly and annoying.

The baby cries and screams, and he thinks his head might explode. There's a painful pounding, and he is afraid his skull might actually split open. Maybe it should. Perhaps bone fragments lodging into his brain would be a peaceful death, quick and easy.

"Doesn't it ever shut up?" he asks, pacing the length of the living room.

They've found safety in a house by the sea. The Muggles who own it had found themselves suddenly eager to go on holiday to some exotic place for a few weeks. Andromeda hadn't approved, but she hadn't put up much of a fight.

"Teddy is not an _it_," she huffs, appearing with the wailing infant, rocking him in her arms and making soothing sounds to comfort him.

She looks so beautiful when he does it, and it hurts. He could have had this life with her if he hadn't been such a coward. They could have married and started a family. They could have had silly, mundane chats over breakfast and arguments that don't matter because they are so in love.

She catches him staring and lifts her brows. "What?"

"Nothing," he says quietly.

Can they still have something beautiful? Andromeda is not exactly warm to him, but she accepts that he is with her. It's probably only because he is trying so hard to keep her safe, not because she actually loves him.

But love can bloom. Love can find a way. He has to believe.

_two months after _

He hates having to move so much, but he knows it is the only way. By now, the others know of his betrayal. Whenever he sees wanted signs or articles about fugitives, his name and picture appear among them. They accuse him of treason.

Maybe he is a traitor, but he doesn't care. He would betray anyone and everyone if it meant keeping Andromeda safe.

He only wishes he hadn't waited so long.

_three months after_

The latest house is in the countryside. It's the sort of place Rabastan might have dreamt of once.

Sitting outside on the porch swing, he studies his forearm, frowning at the Dark Mark that stains his skin. He wonders if he could get rid of it. It isn't a regular tattoo, and he imagines it goes deeper than his skin. Still, he is tempted to find a knife and flay his own arm for the sake of escaping the constant reminder that he has failed.

"Teddy's asleep," Andromeda tells him, stepping outside.

Rabastan nods. He will never admit it, but he's grown fond of the kid. Maybe Andromeda suspects it, but she doesn't say anything. Sometimes she offers him a knowing smile, like she has caught on to some great secret.

She sits beside him, resting her hand in his. "I never thanked you," she says. "If you found me so easily, I can only imagine what an entire mob of Death Eaters could have done."

"I love you, Andi," he says softly. He has not dared to voice those words since he was sixteen, but they still fall from his lips so naturally, and he means the now just as much as he had meant them then. "I would do anything to keep you safe."

She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "I still love you," she tells him, smiling sadly. "You were always such a good memory."

"I don't have to be a memory anymore."

They kiss again, sweet and bordering on chaste. He would love to explore every inch of her, to touch her the way he used to. But this is so precious, so delicate, and he doesn't want to rush it. Everything has to be perfect; Andromeda deserves nothing less.

_five months later _

For a moment, he truly believes that they can have it all. Andromeda greets him each morning with a kiss and a smile. Teddy grows, and Rabastan feels like he is watching his own child. The pride swells within his chest.

This is what it's like to be normal, to live in a loving home. He's never known he was missing it until now.

…

He's nearly home, arms burdened with groceries. It's strange that he is actually out here, buying groceries. What a mundane thing to do.

And yet this is his life now, and he loves it.

His joy fades the moment he approaches the gate. There, above the small farmhouse, is the emblem he's spent the past several months hating. The skull and serpent hang menacingly in the air, declaring that tragedy has struck.

The bags fall from his grip, and he is suddenly choking. Without a second thought, he draws his wand, running.

He should have known they would find him eventually.

He had wanted to keep Andromeda safe. It's just another failure on his part.

He bursts through the door. Andromeda is sprawled on the ground, Teddy still in her arms. Neither move, and Rabastan knows they never will again.

He drops his wand, falling to his knees, screaming. When the footsteps come behind him, he doesn't fight. The green light is almost a relief.


	33. What We Do (Rose and Hermione)

_Word Count: 408_

* * *

Rose takes a deep breath, adjusting the straps of her backpack as she stares at her reflection. The backpack is too much. She doesn't want to look too eager, even though really _is _too eager.

She removes one strap, dangling the backpack absently from one shoulder. Dominique can pull it off; it makes her look ambivalent, like she doesn't care one way or another about what the day may bring. Rose, on the other hand, just looks ridiculous.

With a frustrated cry, she drops the bag to the floor before throwing herself onto the bed. It shouldn't be a big deal. How many kids stand in front of a mirror and try to decide on the perfect way to wear a bloody backpack on the first day of school. She's being ridiculous, and the worst part is that she can't seem to help it. Everything has to be perfect.

There's a knock on the door. "Rose, honey?" her mother calls.

"Come in."

Her mother enters, frowning when she sees Rose's clear distress. She sits beside Rose. "What happened?"

Rose's cheeks burn. She hates talking about it. It feels like a weakness, like something she should be able to control. "I had another episode."

Her mother understands. Her mother has told her time and time again that she was a perfectionist as a child, though Rose is, apparently, more of one.

"I just want tomorrow to be perfect," Rose says. "I want to look like I'm prepared, and I want other kids to like me."

The last part hurts the most. She has her cousins, of course, but they're family. They don't have a choice but to love her. But other kids? Kids she hasn't spent her whole life around? She isn't sure what to do with them. She remembers her mother's stories about her early days at Hogwarts and feeling like an outcast. That isn't the life that Rose wants.

"You're going to be fine," her mother assures her. "Know how I know?"

Rose shakes her head.

"Because you are a Granger-Weasley," she answers. "Granger-Weasleys can do anything they set their minds to."

Rose considers this for a moment, anxiously chewing her thumbnail in silence. Finally, she nods. "Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

She is too clever to truly believe that everything will be perfect. There are too many things that can go wrong. Even so, Rose smiles, relieved. "Thanks, Mum."

She will overcome this. It's just what Granger-Weasleys do.


	34. Hope Was Left (AlectoAmelia)

_For Lo_

_Word Count: 1033_

* * *

Alecto doesn't have anywhere else to go. She doubts Amelia will want to see her, but she is lost and afraid, and so damn desperate. There's nowhere to turn. To the rest of the world, she is a criminal; to the Death Eaters, by the time they realize she is gone, she will be a traitor.

She shivers against the chilly air. Her tattered mahogany dress does little to protect her from the icy bit. All she can do is push through it.

Still shaking and shivering, she reaches Amelia's door, hesitating. What is she doing here? She is hardly innocent, and Amelia knows that better than anyone.

All she can do is hope for the best, that Amelia will not dismiss her.

.

_Amelia glares at her when Alecto sits near her at the lake. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"_

_Alecto shakes her head. She supposes she could sit with Amycus, but she doesn't want to. This is her first chance to really be away from both him and their father. "Please," she whispers._

_The Hufflepuff softens at that. Maybe she can see the hint of fear and desperation in Alecto's eyes. "Want one?" Amelia asks, smiling as she holds up a box of Bertie Bott's._

.

Amelia's warmth is gone when she answers the door. She draws her wand, taking a step back. "This won't end well," she warns, her tone low and dangerous.

Alecto doesn't make a move to raise her wand. She keeps her hands in the air, eyes pleading silently for Amelia to understand.

Somehow, Amelia must get the message. She lowers her wand, but she doesn't relax. "It's midnight," she says. "What on earth would make you think knocking on _my _door at midnight is a good idea?"

It's a fair enough question. Alecto has done everything wrong. She's been deceitful, she's strayed so far from the right path, she's murdered… the list of her flaws is endless.

"Have you ever wanted to start everything over?" she whispers.

.

_Amelia sees the bruises, and she asks. Alecto doesn't want to say. She knows that she will get in trouble if Amycus ever finds out. _

_But the words come out anyway. She tells Amelia about how her father hits her, and how he leaves Amycus in charge sometimes. Amycus likes to hurt her, but he always promises her that it is love, that he only corrects her because he loves her._

_She is lucky to have him. Lucky that he cares for her. Lucky that he can save her._

_Amelia tells her it isn't love._

_"It is," Alecto insists. _

_And Amelia's fingers are so gentle when they curl around her wrist, careful to avoid the bruises. "I can show you love," she whispers, her free hand cupping Alecto's cheek. "If you let me, I mean."_

.

It may be midnight, but that doesn't stop Amelia from working away in the kitchen. She brings Alecto a plate of toast and jam with a side of bacon.

Alecto bites into the toast, moaning softly as the sweet jam meets her tongue. It takes every ounce of control not to shove the whole slice of bread into her mouth. How long has it been since she's had a proper meal? Too long.

"I'm useless and I know it," Alecto says bitterly. She looks up Amelia, and it hurts so much. "I should have listened to you. I should have done something more."

"Hindsight won't help us, Alecto," Amelia sighs, pouring Alecto a cup of tea, then herself. "The question is: what do you want to do now?"

Alecto frowns. She isn't actually sure. She knows she has made so many mistakes. Is this her chance to correct them? She wants to, but she is afraid.

Amycus seems to be with her. Always. She is haunted by him, and she thinks she will always be.

"I want to forget," she admits. "That isn't an option, though."

Maybe it is. Maybe Amelia could Obliviate her and send her elsewhere, letting her get a new start, so far away from this mess and chaos. It's a lovely dream, but she knows it isn't what she needs.

She has to make things right.

.

_She doesn't know how Amycus finds out about Amelia, but be isn't happy. His knuckles collide with her cheek, and she falls to the floor. _

_"Stupid! Useless! Did you really think I wouldn't know?"_

_She had hoped, of course. She really is stupid. Amycus will always find out. She had been foolish to think she could escape him. Amelia had filled her head with silly hopes of a pretty future, of safety, and existing without fear._

_Alecto wants to believe so badly. There has to be more to life than this._

_Amycus' fingers tangle in her hair. Her jerks her head up roughly. "You're mine, Alecto. You will always be mine. Is that understood?"_

_"Y-yes."_

_"I only do it because I love you."_

_He doesn't. She knows what love is now, and Amycus is not loving or kind or gentle. He is not Amelia. _

_"If you go near her again," he tells her, "I will kill her. Slowly. And you will watch."_

_She bows her head. "I understand."_

.

She's terrified when Amelia makes the call. She is just a Death Eater, just a criminal. Filth. Useless.

But Albus Dumbledore steps out of the fireplace, and his blue eyes sparkle with curiosity. He smiles. "I'm told you want to help," he says.

Alecto holds Amelia's hand. The demons will never leave her alone. She will always be haunted, always be broken.

But this is her chance for absolution. This is her chance to make things right.

Trembling, she holds Amelia's hand. It is a small comfort, but it is enough to put her mind at ease. "I do."

.

_The Dementors' chill cuts into her bones, but she barely notices it anymore. Alecto rocks back and forth, trying to drown out the screaming in the surrounding cells._

_One day, she will escape. One day, she will find Amelia and leave her brother behind._

_Azkaban will not take that from her. As long as she is alive, she has to believe. She will not give up hope._


	35. Growth and Shatter (NarcissaPansy)

_Word Count: 640_

* * *

This isn't what she wants in her life. Narcissa is so tired of keeping secrets, of weaving this web of lies. When was the last time she was honest with her husband? When did she last feel anything but sadness and guilt when she was around him.

This is her own fault. Her betrayal is like a poison, slowly spreading through veins. Darkness hangs over her, and she thinks that she may be losing her mind.

And yet she still steals away in the middle of the night, enveloped by shadows. Lucius never asks. She wonders if he suspects; he has always been far more clever than most give him credit for.

A fresh wave of guilt washes over her as she slips through the ornately-carved mahogany doors. She wants to turn and run away, but she doesn't. A bitter laugh escapes her throat. Perhaps Bellatrix wasn't the only monster in the family.

Pansy is waiting for her, and seeing her makes Narcissa's heart skip a beat. The younger woman looks beautiful in black lace.

"You kept me waiting," Pansy says, plump lips forming a pout.

How is it possible for anyone to be so irresistible? It isn't fair. She wishes it could be easier to break things off and walk away.

She is supposed to be the perfect wife, but look at her. Unfaithful, unable to resist temptation. Really, Lucius deserves so much more than this.

Narcissa swallows down the guilt and takes a step closer. "I'm sorry, darling," she whispers.

Pansy grips her hips and pulls her in, kissing roughly. Once, her touch was comforting. Now, it feels so wrong. It burns, reminding her that she is a failure, that she can't even be faithful to the man she swears she loves.

And yet, despite it all, she can't walk away when she knows she should.

…

"You've been quiet tonight," Pansy says, sitting up in bed and tucking a cigarette between her lips. She lights it and inhales deeply before blowing out a cloud of menthol smoke. "What's on your mind?"

Narcissa opens her mouth, prepared to tell the familiar lie about how everything is perfect and she is fine. Instead, a strangled sob comes out. "I just wanted to be loved," she says, her heart breaking at the admission. "How did it go so wrong?"

Her intentions had never been pure. Affairs are not innocent. Still, she had tried to do what she thought was best for herself. She's always had so much love to give

Now, everything is falling apart. The guilt is going to consume her.

Lucius is spending another night alone. Will he wait up for her? Does he lie awake at night and wonder where she is or why he isn't enough?

And then there's Pansy. She is so beautiful, so perfect. She deserves to be more than some dirty little secret, hidden away like something to be ashamed of.

But what Narcissa is really ashamed of is herself, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

"You still love him, don't you?" Pansy asks.

Narcissa tenses. They never talk about Lucius. It's an unspoken rule between them.

"Yes," Narcissa whispers.

Pansy crushes her cigarette in the ashtray before leaning in, kissing Narcissa's forehead. "Then go home, Cissa."

Narcissa can feel her heart breaking. She should have known she would eventually lose Pansy, but it doesn't make it any less painful.

Pansy offers her a sad smile. "I know you won't make the choice," she says simply, "so I'm making it for you. Go home."

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe her heart will find a way to heal from this, and she just needs to let go.

Still, as she dresses and brushes her fingers through her hair, she bites back a sob. Why does growing feel so much like shattering.


	36. In This Together (Neville and Ginny)

_Word Count: 389_

* * *

Neville sits by the lake, his shoes off to the side, bare feet dipped into the cold, dark water. Hogwarts is in the distance, and it still looks the same; it's strange how deceptive the world can be. His beloved school has been twisted into something dark and terrible. The Carrows have taken something he loves more than anything, and they have destroyed it.

"Peaceful, isn't it?"

He turns, smiling softly when he sees Ginny behind him. There's a fresh bruise along her jaw, and the old gash over her high looks irritated. Still, she grins at him as she sits down.

"Keeping out of trouble?" he asks, and it is amazing that he can still sound so reading when the world around them has fallen apart.

Somehow, the world keeps spinning.

"Do I look like the type who would go around breaking rules?" she asks with a soft laugh, winking.

"The proof is written on your face." He doesn't sound so light and joking now. They are back to reality. Back to hell.

Ginny absently brushes her fingers over the nasty bruise, wincing slightly. "Amycus is in a real mood today," she says before shrugging. "Be careful."

Silence hangs between them. Neville turns his attention back to the dark water, watching as the giant squid pokes its head out before quickly disappearing again. "I feel like I'm living in a nightmare," he says with a heavy, defeated sigh, "and I can't wake up."

Ginny rests her hand on his shoulder. It's a comforting gesture, and he finds himself smiling in spite of everything. "You're not on your own," she tells him. "We're all in this together."

His lips quirk. Maybe she's right. Isn't that the only reason he bothers to get out of bed at all? Harry is not here to fix everything. It's up to them to take the castle back, to fight.

"I think it's time to bring the DA back," he says.

They've discussed it in the first few days of returning, but Neville has been too afraid. His greatest fear these days is confrontation. Now it's time to face his fear. It's time to take a stand and let the Carrows know that Hogwarts will always be a place of warmth and acceptance.

He sits a little straighter now, his heart hammering. "I'm ready."


	37. Graves (George, apocalypse)

_Warning: suicide _

_Word Count: 1063_

* * *

_"Your hands are like ice."_

George squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in. The air is icy and hurts his lungs, but he enjoys the pain. He deserves it.

"You aren't real," he mutters. "You're not here."

Fred just laughs in his ear. _"I'm not here. You made sure of that, didn't you, Georgie?"_

George stares up at the grey sky. "I'm sorry, Freddie. I'm sorry."

But sorry isn't good enough. Sorry doesn't take the pain away or bring his brother back.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

…

_Fred doesn't smile. Neither of them really smile anymore. Some days are better than others, but losing their mother has sent them both into a downward spiral._

_"Do you think there's a point?" Fred asks as they wall along the shore, feet bare and sinking into the warm sand._

_It should be a happy place. Once, they had loved the beach and had leapt at the opportunity to visit Bill and Fleur. Now, they've formed a makeshift survivor camp. It isn't much, but they've stuck together and kept the zombies at bay for two months now._

_"Has to be," George says, pausing to pick up a pebble. "Life always has to have a point."_

_Except maybe it doesn't. Maybe, in the back of mind, in the dark recesses of his thoughts, he has begun to think that there isn't any hope, that they are officially, completely, one hundred percent fucked._

_But he doesn't say that. He has to be optimistic. He has to pretend._

…

"You aren't being fair," George murmurs.

Fred laughs in his ear. For a moment, George would swear his twin brushes his fingers over his cheek. The chill that engulfs him is nothing like the November air he knows.

_"Life isn't fair," Fred says. "Then again, death isn't fair either. In case you were wondering."_

"Stop it," George whispers. "Please… Just stop. You aren't like this."

"_I _wasn't," Fred corrects. "_But that isn't quite true is it?"_

Fred always did have a cruel streak that George lacked. He was always the one to take jokes too far, to push the boundaries.

But that was with other people. Not George. Never George.

…

_They're on guard duty, and Fred is snoring softly beside him. George yawns. When is the last time he's had a proper night's sleep? It feels like an eternity._

_Fireflies flutter in the distance, their soft glow breaking through the darkness. George thinks it's strange that something so normal could still exist. The world has been destroyed, but there are still fireflies._

_He leans back in his chair and smiles to himself. It's such a peaceful night. So quiet, so calm. There hasn't been an attack in weeks._

_A quick nap won't hurt. If anything, it will help. George is useless when he's tired._

_He closes his eyes._

…

George makes up his mind. He kneels, glancing up at the oak tree. Between the branches, he can see the clouds gathering and promising fresh snow.

Heart heavy, he digs his nails into the ground, wincing as a small rock wedges itself in. But it's okay. It's fine. He needs the pain.

"_What are you doing?" Fred asks._

"I screwed up, Freddie." Tears sting George's eyes. Unashamed, he lets them fall. Why should he continue to deny his emotions? It doesn't do him any good. It's to embrace it. "I'm sorry."

_"Georgie? What the hell are you doing?_"

…

_He doesn't know what wakes him first: the screaming or the gunshots. He's on his feet in an instant, toppling the chair to the ground._

_Fred isn't there. The mustard yellow blanket is a pool of fabric at the foot of Fred's chair, but he is gone._

_"Fred?"_

_Heart pounding, he rushes toward the chaos, nearly tripping over a mangled body. Angelina. His stomach sours. He has to keep moving. He has to find Fred. _

_The first zombie groans and reaches for him. Hands trembling, George fires a bullet into its skull._

_"Fred!" he screams_

…

"Everyone's gone," George whispers.

Night has long since fallen, and he works by starlight. The hole is barely illuminate; the gentle light is dimmed by the ever-present clouds. It has grown. It isn't perfect. Not yet. But it will be.

His arms ache and burn, but he carries on. He has work today, and he will not stop until it's done.

_"You're serious about this," Fred says before letting out an impressed whistle. "Never knew you had it in you."_

George shakes his head. "Shut up. It isn't like that."

_"Then tell me what it's like. Why don't you educate me? Hmm?"_

He keeps going, eyes narrowing. "Get out of my head."

…

_Some survive the attack. Not many. It's just him, Kingsley, and Alicia now. They're left behind, left to clean up the mess, to find a way to handle this strange, cruel world._

_"There's a pit not far from here," Kingsley says, lifting Fred's body and dropping him on top of the pile on the cart. "Not the way I want to do it, but…"_

_"Mass graves are better than nothing," Alicia agrees. _

_George doesn't speak. His eyes are fixed on Fred, and the rest of the world seems to fade away. _

…

Kingsley and Alicia hadn't lasted much longer. Kingsley had succumbed to a nasty bug; without proper medicine, there was no to treat him. Alicia had fallen and broken her neck.

George buried them both.

But what now?

Maybe living is the right answer. If there was any justice, he would live forever and let the guilt punish him for all eternity. But that isn't an option. Not really.

He looks at the hole he's dug, nodding. It's finally perfect.

Satisfied, he laid back, staring up at the clouds overhead.

He has buried far too many people, and now… Now he doesn't know what to do. It has been too long since he's seen another soul. Maybe he's the last person left alive. Even the zombies seem to have vanished, hopefully for good.

Who will bury him?

That's why it's best to end it on his own terms, lying in this whole and waiting.

Exhaustion washes over him, and he smiles. "I'll see you soon, Fred," he whispers.

As he closes his eyes, the first snowflake falls and melts on the tip of his nose.

It won't be long now.


	38. Not a Rebound (Drarry)

_For Crissie. Happy belated birthday! _

_Word Count: 1166_

* * *

Draco storms in without bothering to knock. "What the hell, Potter?" he snaps. "Longbottom? The bloody coffee boy?"

Harry glances up from the mask in his hand. It's a royal blue strip of silk, almost a blindfold, but with two eye holes cut in it. Draco thinks it's ridiculous and that the costume department is slipping. No self-respecting superhero would ever wear something so tacky.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Harry says, though his innocent tone is a little _too _forced.

Draco snorts, eyes rolling. He folds his arms over his chest, brows raising. Ever since Draco's painfully public breakup with the footballer, Marcus Flint, Harry has been on a crusade to get him laid.

It isn't as though Draco minds a rebound, of course. But he isn't really interested. Not now. Not when he can only think of Harry's emerald eyes and that crooked grin that has earned him quite a fan base.

Not that he would actually tell Harry. The last thing he wants is the scandal of being _that _personal assistant, the one who sleeps with their boss. Show business is not kind to people like that, and he knows he would never be able to find work in the industry again.

"Fine." Harry shrugs before slipping the mask on. "I might have told Neville you were newly single. He thinks you're scary but cute."

"Well, he isn't exactly my type."

Harry leans in, that crooked grin on his lips. "And what exactly is your type?"

Draco huffs and takes a step back. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"As it happens, I would," Harry says dryly, adjusting the mask. "That's why I asked."

Before Draco can answer, there's a knock at the door. Hermione pokes her head in. "Harry, you're needed in makeup."

Harry offers her a mock salute before fixing his green eyes on Draco. "Let me make it up to you? Drinks?"

Draco considers for a moment. Most assistants do everything they can to avoid blurring the lines between personal and professional. He knows it's a risk, and that he needs to consider his job.

Then again, he always seems to walk on eggshells whenever he and Harry happen to be in the same area and people are around.

What would it hurt?

"Fine. But you're buying."

…

The club is far too noisy for Draco's liking. He doesn't know why Harry comes here. The paparazzi always find out, and then the tabloids write rude articles about him.

Maybe that's why he does it. Maybe Harry just really likes fucking with them. Somehow, despite all the stories, his reputation is still spotless.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, absently swirling the lime green liquid in his glass. He doesn't actually know what it is, except that it smells heavily of rum. Harry had recommended it.

Speaking of…

Draco looks around. Harry isn't anywhere to be found. He squirms anxiously. "This is… This is terribly uncomfortable," he mutters under his breath.

All around him, people seem so free. They laugh and drink and grind against people who may or may not be complete strangers. Draco wishes he could trade places with them. He would give anything to be able to forget his upbringing and just go wild for one night. His father would be ashamed. Malfoys are supposed to be prim and proper, yet here he is, in the last place a Malfoy would ever be.

He decides he'll just find Harry, lie about having a headache, and use it as an excuse to leave early. Besides, it's clear that the actor is too famous to even be seen around his assistant.

Draco makes his way through the crowd, searching among the gyrating bodies. Does Harry even like to dance? He isn't sure.

But he does like to drink. Draco knows that much.

He pushes he way out, heading to the bar. Harry isn't too far off. Draco feels his chest constrict when he sees who Harry is with. Tom Riddle, the lead singer of The Death Eaters, has Harry against the wall, his hands resting on either side of Harry, trapping him.

Draco swallows down the jealousy when he realizes that Harry doesn't look happy with the situation. He doesn't even really think about it. His feet seem to carry him forward.

"You're not getting away this time," he hears Tom say. "Come on, Harry. You know you want to."

"How many times do I have to tell you no?" Harry snaps.

Tom laughs. "You think you're so great just because you're Harry Potter." He leans in. "I'm not impressed."

"Hey, Harry, are you ready?" Draco asks, deciding Harry needs an intervention and fast.

Tom turns, eyes narrowing. Draco doesn't understand how someone so handsome can look so evil. It makes him shiver.

"Piss off, blondie," Tom says. "We're in the middle of something here."

"You're in the middle of getting rejected again," Draco says coolly. "Why don't you go sit down and play with your silly guitar?"

Tom focuses fully on Draco. He snarls. "Little boy thinks he can talk so big, huh?" He shoves Draco.

And that's all his needs. Rule one: never put your hands on someone first. His father taught him as much.

Draco curls his fingers inward, forming a fist as he draws back. He puts all of his weight into the punch. His knuckles crack against Tom's face, splitting his lip. A second punch sends him tumbling to the floor.

Draco stars at the fallen rockstar, frowning. "I'm sorry I mangled your face," he says before turning to Harry. "Shall we? I think security is heading this way."

Harry nods and steps over Tom, taking Draco's hand. "The tabloids are going to love this," he laughs.

…

They're halfway to Draco's flat. The adrenaline still floods his veins, but he can feel it weakening. This may be his only chance. Right now, he feels invincible, and nothing can stop him.

"You," Draco says.

Harry tips his head to the side, brows knitting together. "I'm sorry?"

"You asked me what my type is," Draco tells him. "Not sure if I have one beyond you."

"Really?" Harry grins. "I never knew."

Draco snorts. He shouldn't be surprised; Harry is painfully oblivious sometimes. "Yeah, really."

This isn't exactly how he imagined it would be. Maybe he was hoping for some sort of confirmation that his feelings aren't unrequited. Instead, Harry just grins and stares up at the moon.

Finally, after several moments of silence, he turns his attention back to Draco. "How about something more intimate tomorrow after filming?"

Draco hesitates. Harry has been trying to find him causal dates, nothing serious. It isn't what he wants.

"You're not just trying to be my rebound, right?"

Harry shakes his head. "I think you've made it clear that's not what you're looking for."

Draco feels a flutter of relief tickle his insides, and he can't fight the grin that tugs at his lips. "It's a date."


	39. He Watches Her (Severus)

_Warning: creepy stalker bullshit _

_Word Count: 341_

* * *

He watches her.

Potter thinks he's so great just because Lily has finally given him the time of day. He isn't. He is a pathetic, miserable prick. Lily will realize that one day.

She will grow tired of him, and she will come back to Severus. When that day comes, he will forgive her. After all, that's what friendship is all about.

She will receive his forgiveness, and Potter will know his wrath.

…

She looks so beautiful in her mauve jumper. Severus watches, wanting more than anything to just reach out and touch her.

She doesn't even seem to notice him. Instead, she just laughs at something stupid that Potter has said.

One day, she will remember him. One day, she will love him again.

Not just as friends, but as something more.

He will always be waiting.

…

Black grins at her. "I always had a thing for you, Lils," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "In your dreams."

But she smiles when she says it. She always seems to smile when she's around Potter and his little gang.

Did she smile much with him? Severus thinks she must have.

But he knows she never smiled the way she does now. She never looked at him the way she looks at the group of Gryffindor boys.

She will. One day she will see that Severus has been there, always waiting, always ready to catch her.

He loves her. Potter doesn't. Potter could never.

…

"She isn't good for you," Regulus warns.

What does he know about it? He is young and an idiot. He has never loved anyone. How could he understand?

"I think you need to let go. She's clouding your judgment."

But he won't let go. He will never let go because he knows that they are meant to be.

…

She and Potter kiss. It sours his stomach.

He wants to scream, to destroy something, to hex everyone within reach.

One day, she will kiss him like that. One day she will see her mistake.

All he has to do is wait.


	40. Dwelling on What If (Flitwick)

_Word Count: 641_

* * *

The war is over. The battle has been won. All around him, people cheer and shout and call for drinks. But Filius cannot bring himself to stop and sit among them. He slips out of the Great Hall, his short stature making it easy for him to go unnoticed, and makes his way through the corridors.

It is a sad day all around, but the heaviness in his heart is unbearable. Tears sting his eyes as he looks around. The castle is in ruins, but it can be rebuilt. But the bodies that litter the corridor… Those lives cannot be brought back; the lives of those they've left behind will never be the same, and no magic can fix it.

He sighs and makes his way through the corridors, easily staying out of sight. Everyone is too caught up in their strange combination of grief and relief to notice him at all. Once he is in his office, he closes the door behind him and summons his favorite powder-blue tea cup. Another wave of his wand, and the kettle hovers over the fireplace. Merlin knows he wants something stronger, but he knows himself well enough to know that alcohol and grief seldom mix well.

With another heavy sigh, he takes a seat. In this moment, Filius can only see one face through the haze of sadness and regret.

Colin Creevey had been so young. He had never been particularly good at Charms, but what he lacked in skill, he made up in enthusiasm. Filius can so clearly see those eager eyes and bright smile.

And now he is gone, and it's all Filius' fault. If he had been a little faster… If he had realized Colin was outnumbered just a moment sooner… If he had done a thousand things differently, he wouldn't have seen that green light sink into the boy's chest. He wouldn't have seen his student become a ragdoll and collapse in a pitiful heap on top of the rubble.

On fool dwell on _what if _and _could have been. _He knows this, and yet he cannot help it.

"I have never seen you so distraught, my dear Filius."

He looks up. Rowena Ravenclaw has returned to her portrait. She looks down at him, smiling sadly. He cannot bring himself to respond. Instead, he summons the whistling kettle and pours his tea before adding milk.

"I saw what happened to the boy," Rowena says softly. "You mustn't blame yourself.'

"And yet, I do." He closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them again, silent tears trickle down his cheeks.

"I know."

He swallows dryly. He knows the story of Rowena and her daughter, how Rowena had sent the baron for Helena, how Helena was murdered. Does Rowena carry that same grief with her, even after death? Is there truly no escape from the pain?

"It is not easy," she continues, sitting in her chair within the canvas. "Some things never leave us. Not truly. But you are good, Filius Flitwick."

His lips twitch. He doesn't feel good. A boy is dead because of him. A student. A child he was meant to protect.

"You will heal. Slowly but surely, you will find your way again," she tells him. "And then you will be a beacon of hope once again. That is what the children love about you. I hear them sometimes." She laughs. "They say you are always happy, that it makes them want to be happy too."

Happiness seems like such a foreign concept. The shadow of death and pain loom over him, and he cannot seem to shake it.

But maybe she is right. Somehow, he will heal. Somehow, he will smile again, if not for his sake, then for the students'.

In the end, one way or another, he will make it through.


	41. Pretty Things (Pansy)

_Word Count: 511_

* * *

Pansy knows what she has to do to be noticed; her mother has instilled in her the importance of being beautiful, the influence that physical beauty can have on men. As long as Pansy can remember, she has been trained to smile the right way, dress the right way, laugh the right way.

Tonight is no exception. If anything, it is more important that she look as beautiful as possible. Draco Malfoy likes pretty things, she's told. She has to make him like her; her father had his heart set on a marriage between the two of them, and she will not let him down.

She stands in front of the mirror, making a few last minute adjustments to her makeup. Every subtle angle of her face is sharpened. Her eyes are dark, and her lips are glossy red. The sea green dress hugs her curves, showing off her hourglass figure.

"Only one thing missing," she says to herself, plucking her pearl earrings from the ornate jewelry box and putting them. "Perfect."

Having to play dress up for the sake of attracting a husband is tiring, but she knows it is her duty. For her family's honor, she will do as she is told.

…

She hates her family's parties. When she was a kid, Pansy was allowed to stay upstairs and play. Now, she longs for those days.

"Hi, Draco," she says, finding him by the serpentine ice sculpture.

His pale eyes flicker briefly over her, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he just nods. "Pansy."

Not the reaction she was hoping for. Pansy resists a scowl because it isn't proper and ladylike. "Would you like to dance?" she asks, battling her long lashes and offering him her most perfect smile.

Again, his gaze moves along her body, but there's nothing in his expression to indicate that he's impressed. "I don't think so," he says. "Excuse me."

And with that, he's gone. Pansy's dark eyes follow him through the crowd. Maybe she shouldn't be surprised when he ends up beside Astoria Greengrass. She and her sister are like Sirens, beautiful and hypnotic.

"If you ask me, he's an idiot."

She lets out a squeak and turns. Theodore Nott stands behind her, slender arms folded over his chest. His freckled face is a mask of amusement.

Pansy huffs. "Well, I didn't ask you," she says sharply.

He just grins and shakes his head. "Dunno why you fancy him so much."

It isn't that she fancies him. She's supposed to because her father expects it of her. Of course, she doesn't bother to tell Theo this. Let him and the rest of the world assume she's just another lovesick fool.

"I wouldn't mind dancing with you," he adds, cheeks glowing a soft pink.

He isn't the one she wanted when her evening started. Everything she has ever done has been with Draco in mind. But maybe one dance won't hurt. After all, Theo is from a good family, and he's cute in his own way.

Pansy smiles and takes his hand. "Shall we?"


	42. In the Garden (Dominique)

_Word Count: 631_

* * *

In theory, the dragon reserve should not be boring. After all, there is nothing boring about dragons.

Unfortunately, eight year old Dominique Weasley thinks she might lose her mind. Her parents are deep in conversation with Uncle Charlie. Victoire has found some handsome Greek wizard her age to flirt with, and Louis is too young to be any fun.

"I'm going to the garden!" she announces, but no one really seems to notice. She rolls her eyes and tucks her bright yellow diary under her arm and stalks off.

The garden is lovely. Dominique walks along, breathing in the floral scent and smiling to herself. She thinks she could stay here forever if given the chance. It is large and lush and perfect to play fun games like hide and seek or tag.

She takes a seat under the shade of a tall tree, opening her diary and plucking a self-inking quill from behind her ear, pondering what to write. She had planned to have so many exciting tales about Romania and dragons, but it hasn't lived up to her expectations at all. So far, the most thrilling thing to happen all day was when her dad stepped in dragon dung.

Still giggling at the mental image, Dominique begins to recount the story on paper. The way her dad had sworn loudly while Uncle Charlie had nearly fallen over from laughing so hard. The way Victoire's delicate nose had wrinkled and their mother pulled Louis away so quickly to make sure he didn't step in it as well.

She's about to turn the page when she hears the chaos. She can't quite make out the words, except for _escaped. _Given the clear panic all around, it's easy to put two and two together. She scrambles to her feet, clutching her diary. Her parents are just a quick stroll away in the recreational area. It will be easy to make it.

Except her path is almost immediately blocked by a dragon. It's only a baby, but it's still the size of an adolescent elephant, and there is a clear hunger in its eyes.

Dominique takes a deep breath. Uncle Charlie says the biggest rookie mistake is panicking when faced with a dragon. Most dragon handlers end up maimed if they can't keep their head.

"Hello, dragon," she says quietly, lifting her arms. Her diary drops to the grass at her feet. "I don't want any trouble, kay? I just want to find my mummy and daddy. I'll bet you want to find yours too, yeah?"

The soft tone and cautious gestures don't seem to faze the dragon at all. Dragons aren't at all like puppies. Her words do not soothe it.

Dominique trembles. She wants so badly to run away, to scream, to cry, but she is frozen. There is nothing she can do except keep her head high.

"No sudden moves," she tells herself, remembering her uncle's warning when they had visited the Horntail area. "No eye contact."

And then it happens. She doesn't know what they actually do, but half dozen dragon handlers swoop in and rangle the dragon. A moment later her father's arms are around her, and she's pulled close to him.

"That was amazing," Uncle Charlie says proudly. "Did you see her, Bill? Absolutely fearless!"

"You sound entirely too cheerful about that," her father says dryly.

Uncle Charlie laughs. "I'm just saying. Maybe Dom will follow in my footsteps."

Dominique pulls away from her father and bends down to retrieve her diary from the ground. "I don't think I want to play with dragons," she mutters.

"Then what would you like?" Uncle Charlie asks.

She shrugs. "Chocolate milk."

Grinning, Uncle Charlie lifts her up and slings her over his shoulder. "Then let's go find a chocolate cow!"


	43. Darkness Within (Peter)

_Word Count: 447_

* * *

"You lied to me!" Peter rushes forward, fingers curled inward and forming angry fists. "You said… You said…"

But he can't bring himself to repeat Lucius' words. The weight of his betrayal is so heavy now, and he can't breathe. He closes his eyes.

Hadn't he always known it would end like this? Hadn't he known the Dark Lord would target Lily and James? Maybe his mind has tried to overlook what that would actually mean. After all, he is their friend. He would never want them to die.

Lucius studies him, a lazy smirk on his lips. "Yes. So there is the Gryffindor ferocity," he says with a sneer as he pours himself a drink. "Do sit down, Pettigrew. Your nervous pacing is leaving a trail in my carpet."

Peter stops moving, but he doesn't sit. His eyes flicker from the amber liquid in Lucius' glass to the Death Eater mask resting on his polished mahogany desk. "Say something," he croaks. "Please."

Lucius rolls his eyes. "I was never dishonest. That was you, when you decided to betray your friends," he says coldly. "If you want to blame someone, perhaps you should ask yourself why it was so easy to hand your friends over. Dear, dear. Did the Sorting Hat even consider you as a Hufflepuff? I assume not, since you have no loyalty."

Peter ignores the clear jab. He swallows dryly. It _had _been surprisingly easy to betray them. Lily has always been kind to him. But James? Sirius? They had always treated him like he was just _there. _He's never really belonged with them, and they've never really cared for him.

"Everyone has a dark side," Lucius continues, smiling as he retrieves a second glass. "I merely helped you embrace yours."

"I'm not dark."

But that isn't quite true. Hasn't he always felt that monster in his chest? Hasn't there always been a little voice whispering in his ear?

He wonders if Lucius know what Peter is thinking, if that's why he wears that victorious smirk as he pours Peter a glass. "Come," he says, sliding the offered drink across the desk. "It's Halloween. Time to celebrate."

Peter accepts the drink. The liquid sloshes against the side of his glass as his hand trembles.

Lucius lifts his glass in toast. "To the Dark Lord."

Peter echoes the words, but he feels his stomach tie itself into knots. He had hoped to find a sense of belonging here, something the Marauders never could.

It seems like it will always be elusive, and he worries that he's made a terrible mistake.

He swallows down the burning liquor, praying it will be enough to silence his demons.


	44. Rainy Regrets (AbraxasMinerva)

_Word Count: 637_

* * *

It's raining when they put Dougal on the ground. Minerva thinks it's quite fitting. He always said that rain keeps food on the table, and all farmers should thank God for such a gift.

She wonders if he would find something beautiful in rain at a funeral.

A funeral she cannot even attend. Not really. Perhaps she could, but guilt keeps her far away, hidden among the trees. A spell could easily deflect the rain, but she opts for a black umbrella instead, just in case anyone notices her.

"I heard about the Mug…" Someone behind her clears his throat. "I heard about your friend."

Minerva doesn't have to turn to know that Abraxas Malfoy is standing behind her. That voice is so familiar that it has often woven itself into her dreams. She shivers; she cannot think about that now.

"Shouldn't you be home, Abraxas?" she asks dryly, her eyes focused on the gravedigger who begins to drop red clay until the hole. "I was under the impression that Acanthia never let you out."

"I thought you were kinder than that," he says softly, his words barely audible over the pouring rain. "I only wanted to comfort you. Do not break my heart, dear Minnie."

"I think you have no heart." She turns to face him at last. "And I had a mind once to give you mine."

Abraxas' lips curl into a smile, but she cannot quite read the expression. He reaches out, and she pulls away. Minerva knows what his touch does to her, and she cannot let him in again. The sting of his first betrayal is still too great, and some wounds will never heal.

"I want to fix things between us," he tells her.

Why does his voice have to smooth and velvety? Something stirs inside of her, something she hasn't dared to think about since leaving Hogwarts. Her eyes close. It isn't fair that he can have this effect on her. Years have passed, and she thinks she should be immune to him.

His hand rests on her waist, and it sends a shockwave through her body. The umbrella falls from her hand, landing on the wet ground at her feet. This is wrong. She is here to mourn for the man she once loved, and Abraxas is married. This shouldn't happen.

And yet, his lips meet hers, and she feels an eruption of butterfly wings inside her, tickling her stomach. She hasn't felt this way since her youth. But she knows it cannot last. At the end of the day, they have made their choices. He could have had her, and she could have been his. If only he hadn't followed his family's traditions.

She pulls away, clearing her throat as she retrieves her umbrella and holds it over her head once more. Despite the cold rain that still beads her skin, her cheeks are flushed with heat. "That was most inappropriate," she says, holding her head high and trying to maintain her dignity.

He smirks. "You didn't seem to mind," he says. "You always liked to pretend you were prim and proper, but that isn't quite true, is it? I've seen what happens when you allow yourself to let go and enjoy yourself."

"Those days are behind me," she says before offering him a polite nod. "If you will excuse, I have a meeting to attend."

She doesn't give him a chance to say anything else. If he opens his mouth, she knows it will be over. He will weave his spell, and she will fall in love all over again. She doesn't think she can bear another heartache, least of all from the same man who broke her heart so many years ago.

She's gone in an instant, trying to think of what they could have had.


	45. Waiting (Sirius)

_Word Count: 360_

* * *

_Prison!au_

Sirius paces the length of his cell again. Ever since they put him in solitary confinement, it's the only exercise he gets. They he's there for his own protection, that he's a danger to himself and others. It's all bullshit.

The want to keep him locked away because he knows the truth, and he's tried to expose the corruption since the moment they accused him of Lily and James' murders. The idea that the blood law enforcement agencies are supposed to protect people is the most ridiculous myth since Santa Claus. They only want to throw an innocent man in jail because he is the best lead they've got.

Never mind the fact that Sirius doesn't have a motive. They were his best friends; their son his godson! It doesn't matter, of course. They painted their little narrative for the media. They made Sirius into a villain, a former no one ever expected to attack them. The newspapers ate it up, of course. As far as Britain was concerned, Sirius Black was guilty long before he ever set foot in a courtroom.

But he knows the truth. He knows the lengths Lucius Malfoy has gone to in order to ensure Sirius goes down for the murders. As much as he hates to admit it, he even knows who the real murderer is. Peter had been a dear friend, but he had always been a little off. Sirius had tried to confront him, and that's what got him caught.

It's been twelve years since that day. Twelve bloody years, and the grudge has only grown.

Peter Pettigrew. Lucius Malfoy. Since his imprisonment, he's learned more names of those involved in the conspiracy. Tom Riddle. The Lestrange brothers.

They are the reason his best friends are dead, the reason Remus won't return any of his letters, the reason he has spent more than a decade rotting in this hell hole.

He laughs, checking the hole he has slowly been digging for twelve years, little by little. It won't be long until he's free.

They want to call him murderer. When he's out, he will give them a reason to do exactly that.


	46. Friends (Regulus and Peter)

_Word Count:_ 518

* * *

It's freezing, but he doesn't care. Fingers like ice, Peter grips the tree branch and pulls himself up. Climbing trees have always been something of an escape for him, and Merlin knew he needed an escape now.

It isn't that his friends deliberately try to be mean to him. Peter is just something of any outsider, even among the people he loves more than anything. If he's honest, he envies James and the others. They get along so naturally; even Remus in all his shy and bookish glory fits in easily. Peter will never be like that; he will never truly fit in.

Once he sits comfortably on a low branch, Peter shifts slightly, plucking his blue mittens from his pocket and sliding them onto his hands.

"I wasn't aware that lions can climb trees like that."

The sudden voice startles him. Peter's hand turns so quickly that it cracks against the trunk of the tree. The skin throbs, but he doesn't feel blood when he checks it. Worst case scenario, he'll have a nasty bruise later.

"Sorry," Regulus says, moving closer and grinning up at Peter.

"It's fine." Peter hates how curt and snappy he sounds, but he knows they aren't supposed to like Regulus. Sirius would never approve.

Regulus pulls a cigarette from his pocket and tucks it between his lips, lighting it. He takes a deep drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Shouldn't you be with your friends?" he asks.

Peter swallows dryly and looks away. He doesn't want to talk about that, especially not with Regulus.

The younger boy chuckles softly. "Ah. I see," he says, even though Peter hasn't said anything. "People can change. Even your friends."

Peter keeps quiet. Is it that obvious? Maybe Regulus is trying to goad him; he's just having a laugh at Peter's expense.

Except there's nothing teasing in Regulus' expression. He looks like maybe he knows what it means to be left behind and forgotten. Maybe he does. Peter thinks Regulus and Sirius might have been close once. Now, Sirius can barely stand to say his brother's name.

"What do you want?" Peter asks at last, awkwardly kicking his legs out, trying to release his nervous energy.

"To talk." Regulus shrugs and takes another drag. "You looked like you needed a friend."

_Friend. _They aren't friends. Peter has his friends, and Regulus doesn't fit into that. Then again, maybe Peter doesn't fit in either.

He groans, suddenly feeling defeated. "Is it too much to want to be wanted?" he asks.

"Not at all."

There's an undeniable sadness in the Slytherin's tone. This isn't just a front; he _does _understand how Peter feels. It's strange. Peter has spent so much time with an _us versus them _mentality that he has forgotten that maybe, just maybe, they aren't so different.

He drops from his perch, landing clumsily and nearly losing his balance. The snow crunches beneath his feet. "There's a spot near the lake," he says. "It's my favorite place to think. Wanna come with me?"

Regulus drops his cigarette, crushing it beneath his boot. "Let's go."


	47. Reunion (Dudley and Piers)

_Word Count: 364_

* * *

The war is over. Dudley still doesn't quite understand what that means, only that Harry has won. Dedalus tried explaining it more in depth, but Dudley hadn't really listened. All he knew was that he was free again, and he knew exactly where he wanted to be.

…

Some things never change. Piers is outside in his backyard, a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. He says the caffeine and nicotine are his favorite ways to wake up, but that doesn't explain why he drinks so much of the stuff.

"How many cups have you had today?" Dudley calls teasingly as he peers over the fence.

Piers nearly drops his cigarette when he hears Dudley's voice. With a grin, he tucks filter between his lips and sets the cup down on the table. "Is it really you?"

"Open up and find out."

Piers doesn't hesitate. He runs over, still grinning as he lets Dudley in. "Cigarette? Or coffee? I'm sure I can fix you up some tea," Piers says, and he's talking so fast that Dudley can barely keep up.

"Seriously, how much caffeine have you had?" Dudley asks with a chuckle.

"Enough. You know it's part of my morning tradition."

Silence fall between them. Dudley swallows dryly. Part of him is so relieved to see Piers again that he wants to cry. If he's honest, he was afraid he would never get to see his best friend again. Relief washes over him, and he can't stop grinning.

"Where the hell have you been?" Piers demands at last, dropping his cigarette to the ground and throwing his arms around Dudley. "You just disappeared."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Dudley wonders if he can tell Piers his impossible story. Piers never knew ray there was a war at all. He's been able to live a peaceful life, blissfully oblivious. Really, he wouldn't believe Dudley anyway.

"I think I will take a cup off coffee," Dudley decides.

Piers grins. "Better drink it fast if you wanna catch up. I'm on cup four."

"Piers, it's only nine in the morning!"

The war is over, and maybe life will go back to normal again.

* * *

_For_

_Galleon Club: coffee_

_Wreath, rainbow tinsel: friendship _

_Winter Cocktails, Hot Toddy: friendship _

_Holiday Cards, pandas in the snow: Piers Polkiss _

_Book Club, Zero: running, fast, friendship _

_Amber's Attic, Descendants: someone consuming copious amounts of caffeine _

_Film Festival: cigarette _

_Lyric Alley: War is over now_


	48. Her Fault (unrequited BartyAlice)

_Word Count: 409_

* * *

Barty feels sick as he raises his wand. This is hardly the first time he has been tasked with torturing someone, but it's different. Those eyes that look up at him are all too familiar.

He swallows, but he still feels like he might vomit. Barty says, "_Crucio!_", though his voice trembles.

He is in charge; he can do this.

Alice's screams fill the air, chilling his blood. He wants to apologize, to put a stop to this, but he knows he cannot.

.

_"Frank's head is as empty as a flower pot," he says, rolling his eyes. "I don't know what you see in him."_

_Alice just shakes her head, biting into her chocolate chip cookie. "Pretty sure I never asked for your permission, Barty," she teases, swearing under her breath as the gooey chocolate leaves a smear on her white shirt._

_"I know. My permission isn't necessary. But Alice!"_

_She just laughs. Merlin, her laugh is so beautiful. He wonders if Frank appreciates her laugh the way he does._

_"As long as you're happy," he says._

_Alice grins, lightly nudging him with her elbow. "I am, Dad."_

_"Dad?" His lip curls in disgust. "Thanks for making it weird."_

.

She still looks so beautiful, but her screams are not. He remembers her laugh, and he wants it back.

The curse leaves his lips again. Her purple shirt lifts slightly, exposing her midriff as she writhes. She could have been his, and this would have never happened.

Something shifts inside him. It's _her _fault. Not his. He gave her the chance, and she should have taken it.

.

_"Why would I want to go?" Barty asks, scowling. "The man is boring."_

_"Maybe so you can support your best friend," Alice suggests dryly._

_He catches her wrist gently, pulling her close. "You're supposed to marry your best friend, you know."_

_She pulls away, eyes wide as she finally seems to understand his intentions. "No offense, Barty, but you have always been like a brother to me. I'm sorry."_

_He laughs, desperate to play it off and be cool about it. Alice clearly isn't convinced. With a a mumbled apology, she quickly excuses herself and hurries off._

.

It is over. As Barty sits and pours himself a firewhiskey, he smiles to himself. She had humiliated him and wounded his pride. Revenge is somehow so sweet.

As he drinks, he hums a lullaby to himself. It will all be worth it in the end.


	49. Watching Him (Sirius and Harry)

_Word Count: 466_

* * *

"Look, Harry. See? Yummy yummy peaches," Sirius says, dipping the spoon into the pureed fruit. "Mmmmmm. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

Harry turns his head to the side, flailing his hands. His chubby little fist knocks the spoon away, sending it clattering noisily to the floor and leaving a splattering of peaches on the tile.

Sirius makes a mental note to clean it once he gets Harry situated. The last thing he needs is for James and Lily to return home from their date to find the house in ruins. They had been hesitant to let him babysit; he doesn't want them to realize he cannot be trusted to keep things nice and neat.

With a frustrated cry, Harry knocks the jar of baby food onto the floor, shattering the glass in a puddle of pureed peaches.

…

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

Sirius finds Harry, covered in a red, waxy substance. The tube of Lily's favorite lipstick is off to the side.

Sirius groans. "Right. Bath time has come early," he says.

…

Harry looks adorable in his beige jumper. "What a handsome boy," he says, tickling his godson.

Harry giggles and kicks his legs. He's so tiny and precious, and Sirius loves him more than anything in the world. Truth be told, he had been afraid when James and Lily had asked him to be Harry's godfather. He still feels like a kid too; how is he supposed to help raise one?

But watching Harry now, he thinks that maybe it's going to be okay.

"I love you, kiddo."

Harry laughs again. A rotten odor suddenly rises up, filling Sirius' nostrils. Sirius recoils, covering his nose. "Really, Harry? You _just _had a bath."

…

Sirius is exhausted. He doesn't know how Lily and James do it. It's only been a few hours, and he feels like he's going to lose his bloody mind. Harry screams and cries, and all Sirius knows to do is carry him around the living room.

"Shhh," Sirius soothes. "It's okay, Harry. Everything is going to be okay. You're safe, and you're loved."

He comes to a stop in front of the window, outside, snow begins to fall, flakes of white illuminated by the moonlight.

"Look," he says, catching Harry's attention.

Harry watches, eyes wide with fascination. "Dat?"

"Snow," Sirius tells him.

Whatever distress Harry had felt moments earlier seems to melt away. He snuggles closer to Sirius, resting his head on Sirius' chest.

…

Harry sleeps soundly, his teddy bear tucked in beside him. Sirius stands in the doorway, smiling to himself as he watches his serene godson. He still doesn't know what he's doing. Sometimes it's easy to tend to Harry, and other times he's lost and confused.

But these moments remind him that it's all worth it.


	50. Office Games (Kingsley and Tonks)

_Word Count: 418_

* * *

"Happy Christmas!" Tonks calls, grinning as she walks over. She looks festive in her forest green dress, designed to look like a decorated Christmas tree. Beneath her Santa hat, Kingsley glimpses her signature bubblegum pink hair.

He lifts a hand in acknowledgement, lips tugging into a smile. "I thought you didn't bother with these types of things."

Earlier that day, Tonks had expressed her dislike of office parties, calling them stuffy and boring. Kingsley had pointed out that they are optional, but that he would attend because Amelia helped cater.

Tonks shrugs, plucking a glass of champagne from a floating tray. She sips the bubbly drink, smiling to herself. "You said Amelia makes good food," she reminds him. "Did she make the brownies?"

Kingsley nods his confirmation. "I've asked for the recipe at least a hundred times, but she always says I would have to pry it from her cold, dead hands."

Tonks' gaze flickers through the crowd of Ministry employees before settling on Amelia in the distance, deep in conversation with Dawlish. "How much you want to bet she and Dawlish are…" She trails off and turns to Kingsley, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Kingsley nearly chokes on his roll. "Tonks!"

He's wondered the same before, though he would never ask so bluntly.

Tonks links her arm with his, leaning against him. "Hmm… Who else?" she asks.

He laughs. Tonks is so mischievous and full of energy. Of course she would find a way to make this into a game.

"Oh, Malfoy and Fudge," she notes, nodding toward them. "Corrupt bribery scheme or illicit affair? My money is on affair. You know Fudge loves running his fingers through those luxurious locks."

Kingsley shudders at the thought. "I would hope Fudge would have better taste than that."

It goes on like that for several minutes. Tonks creates elaborate, dramatic schemes that are more fitting for Muggle fiction. From forbidden relationships to secretly steals coworkers' supplies to build a creepy, obsessive shrine, Tonks seems to think the Ministry employees lead such interesting lives.

Kingsley laughs through it all. He can't remember having so much fun at one of these events. It's always been so tense, forcing himself to smile at jokes that aren't funny or listen to someone's "exciting" retelling of their latest mundane adventure.

"Never change, Tonks," he says, accepting a glass of mulled wine. "Never change."

"Don't worry," she assures him, clinking her half-empty glass against his and winking. "I plan on being this way until I die."


	51. Here (DeanPiers)

_For Elizabeth, DeanPiers, nightmare _

_Word Count:_ 803

* * *

_Ted falls. Dean screams. All around him, the forest seems to blur as he tries to rush forward. Ted is like a father to him; he can't be dead!_

_Griphook's thin fingers curl tightly around his wrist. How can a creature so small have such a strong grip?_

_"Let me go!" Dean screams. "Let me go!"_

He bolts upright, covered in a cold sweat. His heart hammers, and it takes him several seconds to sort his breathing out. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes again. Nothing. It doesn't help.

No one really talks about the way grief never really leaves. He had assumed he would have stopped having nightmares by now, but here he is. It's January, well over half a year since the final battle, and he still sees the darkness.

Sometimes it's Ted. Those are the worst nights because he knows that he could have done more if given the chance. He could have saved Ted.

Sometimes he relives his time in Malfoy's cellar. Cold. Dirty. Luna and Ollivander had been skin and bones, and he doesn't know how any of them made it out alive.

Beside him, Piers sleeps. Good. At least Dean's brokenness hasn't interfered with his boyfriend's sleep schedule.

With a heavy sigh, Dean climbs out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen. It's tempting to pour himself something strong. God knows he needs the numbing warmth of alcohol to take his pain away.

He puts the kettle on and takes out a teacup. When the kettle whistles, he takes it off the stove and pours it over the tea bag. A little sugar, a touch of milk. It's comforting, just what he needs.

"Nightmares again?"

Dean jumps, lifting his spoon like a wand, habitually defensive. "Piers!" He sighs, shaking his head. "Don't scare me like that."

His boyfriend smirks. "Funny. You're threatening me with a spoon?"

Dean snorts, eyes rolling. He relaxes slightly, dipping the spoon into his tea and stirring it. "I thought you were asleep."

"Clearly not." Piers sits across from him. "You usually go back to sleep when you have bad dreams. Had to make sure you…"

He doesn't have to finish that sentence. Piers was there for him during the worst of it. He knows exactly how bad off Dean got, how bad he might get again. Dean sighs and closes his eyes for just a moment before opening them again.

"Sorry," he says quietly.

"I don't want you the sorry. I want you to be okay."

Dean swallows dryly. _Okay. _He doesn't remember how to be okay. The pain is still so fresh, and nothing seems to take it away for long. There is no magical remedy for this, no special cure. His head is fucked, and he isn't sure if there's any coming back from this.

"I had nightmares when I first moved in with Max," Piers tells him, gesturing around his cousin's kitchen. "I was… Christ, Dean… I couldn't get through a six hour window without having a bloody panic attack."

Dean knows the story. Piers still flinches when someone on the telly raises their voice. He is still covered with scars both inside and out, and he doesn't like to talk about it, but he once confided in Dean how very not okay he really is.

Dean is about to apologize, and Piers cuts him off, shaking his head. "Hush. I'm not looking for sympathy. This about you, not me," he says firmly before climbing to his feet and holding out his hand. Dean takes it. "When I had really bad nightmares, Max would take me outside. Come on."

It doesn't seem like something that would help. Inside, outside. His location isn't going to change anything. Still, there's something in Piers' smile that Dean trusts without question. He allows Piers to lead him outside.

Snow drifts in the moonlight. Here and there, a star manages to shine through the clouds overhead. The neighborhood is sleeping, and it is so quiet and peaceful.

Dean does find himself relaxing, despite everything.

"I know," Piers says, though Dean hasn't spoken at all. "It's like you can find your place in this huge world just by stepping outside and breathing."

Dean steps forward, his slippers sinking into a blanket of white. Snow caresses his exposed ankle, and he steps back again, shivering. "I think my place is in bed, under a pile of blankets."

Piers smiles sheepishly, a faint pink visible in his pale cheeks. "We might not have dressed properly," he admits. "Blankets sound lovely."

Maybe this pain will never go away. Maybe Dean will always be stuck, always frozen. But he has Piers, and he can see the smallest glimmer of hope in the darkness.

Everything, he thinks, is going to be okay.


	52. New Beginnings (JamesAlice)

_For Liza_

_Word Count: 1115_

* * *

Alice steps out of her car and hesitates. Her fingers anxiously twist her wedding ring. Maybe she shouldn't wear it anymore; she is a widow now, not a wife. Still, she can't bring herself to remove it.

Her eyes flicker to the tiny building. Supposedly, it can take her pain away. She doesn't know if she believes that or not. It seems like the pain is far too permanent. Frank is gone, and no amount of talking is going to change that.

With a heavy sigh, she opens her car door again and sits inside. She doesn't drive off. Not yet. Something seems to keep her here, though she doesn't know what it is.

A knock on the window draws her back to present. She rolls the window down and is greeted by a young man around her age with dark, messy hair and bright hazel eyes. He offers her a crooked grin. "Are you here for the meeting?" he asks.

Alice opens her mouth, but she isn't sure what to say. Her mind still isn't made up.

"I get it," he says, and he really sounds like he does, like he's been where she is. "It took me about half an hour to work up the courage to go for the first time."

"What made you go?" she asks, her voice soft and barely audible.

He shrugs. "I knew Lily would want it for me." At the mention of her name, Alice sees a flicker of pain flash over his face, and she can guess who Lily must have been. "I'm James."

"Alice."

"Well, Alice, are you coming?"

She lets the window up and steps outside again. A soft breeze caresses her cheek, sending a chill down her spine. What is she doing here? It isn't going to help, and she would be better off driving away and picking Neville up from Augusta's.

James offers her a grin. "You're taking an important first step," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes. "You sound like a section from an official handbook on grief."

He presses his palm to his chest, directly over his heart, face contorting in mock offense. "I'll have you know that there is nothing official about me. I make this up as I go along."

Alice laughs. It's hard not to. It isn't as though James has said anything funny, but the dramatic tone makes it so easy to smile.

It doesn't laugh long. She feels a sharp pain in her chest. It's like a betrayal. Her fingers once again brush over her wedding ring.

James notices and offers her an understanding smile. He doesn't say anything else, just leads the way into the building.

…

"When my wife died," a woman named Marlene says, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, "a part of me died as well. Dorcas was… Dorcas was everything to me."

Her words make something stir within Alice. It's all too familiar. Frank was her world. Sometimes he made her think that maybe soulmates really existed. Now he's gone, and she isn't sure what to do with herself anymore.

Marlene continues, detailing her time with her late wife. The small group nods in sympathy and whispers their understanding here and there. Alice remains silent and still, her mind drifting.

"I was frazzled," Marlene says. "Well, that might be something of an understatement."

_Frazzled. _That's one way to put it. Alice had been afraid that she might lose her bloody mind. When the news came, she had fallen to the floor, sobbing as her baby cried in his pin, completely unaware that their lives had just been completely upended.

"What was I supposed to do?" Marlene laughs nervously, the sound dissolving into a sob.

Alice still doesn't know what she's doing, but she has spent the past half a year going through a great rollercoaster of emotions. She's been sad, bitter, angry, and everything in between. The good days have left her feeling guilty, as if smiling makes her a terrible person, as if Frank would hate her for being happy.

But he wouldn't. Maybe there's a part of her that knows that, but she is still too scared.

…

James catches her as she's halfway out the door. "Stay for a coffee," he says. "We have tea, as well."

"Of course we do," Alice says with a soft smile. "We're English."

He grins, and she can see a hint of hope in his eyes. "Funny," he muses. "Is that a yes?"

Augusta won't expect Alice back for another hour or so. Alice had planned to spend the time going for a jog in the park, trying to clear her head. Maybe a little company would be more preferable. "Just one cup."

James grins. "I make the best cuppa in London. You can ask anyone."

"Whatever he said, he's lying," Marlene says, walking over. She turns to Alice, taking her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "It is so lovely to meet. I'm just sorry it had to be here."

Alice mumbles something incoherent, unsure of how to respond. Luckily, someone else catches Marlene's attention, and the other woman moves along with a quick farewell.

"Everyone is so nice," Alice says.

"Mhm. It's because we know what it's like, and we remember needing that same support." James stops in front of the refreshment area. "I lost my wife nearly a year ago, and it… It really doesn't get any easier. Some days are better than others, but…"

Silence hangs between them. Alice reaches out, resting a hand on his forearm. James' lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

"You're very beautiful," he tells her. When Alice sputters a protest, he quickly adds, "No, no. I understand. Grief is different for everyone. I'm not… I don't want to pressure you. Please don't think that."

She believes him. Even though she has known him for maybe an hour, Alice trusts James so easily. He just seems so genuine.

"I would like to take you out to lunch," he says. "We can go as friends. Some day, maybe that can change, and we can be something more. That's entirely up to you, of course."

She touches her ring. Frank would want her to be happy. He wouldn't want her to waste away, wallowing in her grief, letting herself drown in it.

She isn't ready yet. Maybe she won't be for a very long time. Still, James is extending his friendship, and maybe that grow.

"Nothing wrong with making a new friend," Alice decides.

Healing is a process, and this is going to take time. At least James is there, and maybe, just maybe, some good can be found in darkness.


	53. The One (TeddyVictoire)

_Word Count: 342_

* * *

They lay together on the beach, bare feet resting so that the gently rolling waves will caress their skin as they come in. Victoire loves these peaceful moments with Teddy. It seems that they have found them more and more lately. Maybe it's just easier now that Teddy has left Hogwarts, and Victoire is going into her seventh year. There doesn't seem to be many trivial things to distract them now.

"We could elope," Teddy says suddenly. "What do you think?"

Victoire rolls her eyes. "Elope?" she echoes. "Have you seen how big my family is? They might actually kill you for suggesting it."

Teddy snorts, picking up a seashell from the sand and brushing his finger over it, sending sand falling to the ground. "Kill? No. Potentially maim me? More likely," he muses. "You're the one who said you didn't want a big thing."

And she doesn't. If she could have her way, she would have her parents there to serve as witnesses, and Andromeda because she loves Teddy so much, and that would be it.

Teddy places the seashell on her bare stomach, grinning down ar her. "We're going to have to tell them we're engaged then," he says.

Victoire nods. They won't care, of course; hell, she knows they'll be ecstatic. Teddy will officially be part of the Weasley-Potter clan.

It's still hard to talk about. She's ready for this, but it is still such a big change, such a big promise. How could she be anything but nervous?

"Not today," Teddy assures her, dropping his hand to hers and holding it, fingers gently caressing her palm. "We can wait until you're ready."

That's why she loves him. She's dated before. The boys in her past were always so pushy, always demanding things to be done on their time. Teddy is patient and kind, and she falls in love with his gentleness a little more each day.

Some may say they're moving too fast, and they're too young. But Victoire knows in her heart that Teddy is the one.


	54. Blanket of Loneliness and Grief (Dennis)

_Foreign Exchange, task 3: Write about someone trying to do something alone _

_Word Count: 589_

_Warning: alcoholism, grief_

* * *

He's gone.

Dennis stands there, unsure of what to say. His head swims as he tries to understand the apologies that spill from Neville's mouth. Colin is gone. Colin, who had promised Dennis that he would come back, has broken that promise.

Dennis hates him. At least, he wants to hate him. After all, people who break promises are supposed to be the worst types. That's what his dad has always said.

But he doesn't hate Colin. He simply hates his absence.

Neville is still talking, still using words like _hero _and _honor. _Dennis doesn't want to hear it. With shaky hands, he accepts his brother's camera, trying not to react to the crack across the lens.

Colin would be devastated.

…

"Dennis?"

His father's breath smells heavily of alcohol. Dennis almost laughs. _Like father, like son _shouldn't apply to their coping methods, but here they are.

"You can talk to me, you know," his father says, his voice strained.

"I know, Dad."

He won't. There's nothing either of them can do or say that will make it any easier for the other. So far, they've managed to sit through one lunch that had been filled with a silence so tense and awkward that Dennis had barely been able to eat more than a few bites of his sandwich. Other than that, they haven't bothered reaching out.

Dennis wonders if he should be hurt by that. Maybe, but he isn't. It's easier to do it this way, to be alone with his grief.

When the door closes, Dennis drops to his knees, trembling. He leans forward, resting his face against his mattress and muffling the frantic sounds that escape him.

He reaches under his bed and pulls out the bottle he's stashed away. It's cheap vodka, and it tastes awful, but it's something his father won't notice is missing at all. Dennis opens the bottle.

Alcohol works its own strange kind of magic. One sip, and abracadabra! His demons fade away. Another sip, and the screaming in his head lowers to a dull roar. Slowly, sip after sip, he becomes numb.

…

Orla writes to him a few days after the funeral. She has always been such a good friend, so he isn't surprised when the letter comes.

He's tempted to reach out, to tell her that he's slipping. Instead, he just folds the letter and tucks it away. She doesn't deserve to have him drag her into his misery.

This grief is his alone. He will carry it, and he will learn to deal with it on his own.

If only he knew how.

…

Dennis paces, hands trembling as he finishes off yet another stolen bottle of alcohol. It has been a month since losing Colin, and it hasn't gotten any easier.

Maybe he needs something other than alcohol to cling to. Maybe he actually needs _someone._

But he won't reach out. He can't. Dennis looks around, and people are healing. People are moving on with their lives and finding their smiles again. Even George Weasley is getting ready to reopen his joke shop.

Dennis is broken, and no one can fix him. He should have healed by now. Everyone else has, and it is so clear that something is wrong with him.

All he can do now is sit in his room, broken and holding onto an empty bottle, looking through the photographs Colin has left behind. Maybe there is no healing for him; maybe there will always just be this blanket of loneliness and grief.


	55. Hideous Lace (KingsleyPoppy)

_Word count: 354_

* * *

There's a smile on Kingsley's lips as he steps into his home, holding a bag filled with their favorite foods. Since the battle ended the week before, it seems to be nonstop going and going. They've asked him to lead, and he's been thrust into the world of politics during such a vulnerable time. Poppy, meanwhile, has been splitting her time between the hospital wing and St. Mungo's. Today is the first time they've managed to both be home at the same time. He's glad to finally have some much-needed alone time with his girlfriend.

She's waiting for him in the living room, holding out a beer. Kingsley raises his brows curiously. Poppy usually insists that he waits until after dinner to drink. "Do I want to ask?"

Poppy laughs softly, offering him a smile that's almost sheepish. "I think it's best that you just see it," she says.

Kingsley takes a deep drink of the bitter before following her into the living room. It takes only a second to figure out that he needs something much stronger. His curtains, which had been worn out and smelled heavily of dust, have been replaced, and he can't call the change an upgrade. Hot pink lace is trimmed with a pastel purple, horribly juxtaposed against the soft tan walls.

Kingsley laughs and shakes his head. "It's astounding that you managed to find something so bloody terrible." He pauses, pursing his lips. "Actually, that word doesn't do it justice."

With an eye roll, Poppy wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Some of us are terrible at cosmetic charms," she murmurs. "They were supposed to be blue."

He can't help but smile. The curtains are awful, but it doesn't matter. It's such a sweet gesture, and he loves her for it. "Come on," he says, lifting the bag. "Dinner is served."

Poppy pulls away, still all smiles as she takes the bag and leads him to the dining room, the table already set.

It feels like an eternity since they've spent time alone together. Nothing can ruin this night, not even hideous curtains.


	56. A Twin (Parvati and Padma)

_Word Count: 377_

* * *

Parvati smells chocolate coming from the kitchen at seven in the morning. That isn't the best sign. In their eighteen years together, she has only ever known Padma to bake whenever she's stressed.

"Brownies," Parvati observes, staring at the tray that's cooling. "Brownie baking is post-breakup activity." Realization dawns on her, and her eyes widen. "Did Terry break up with you? I'm gonna punch him so hard in the mouth that he bites his own heart!"

Padma looks up, eyes rolling. She has always been so much calmer than Parvati. Parvati doesn't understand; her twin should be raging right now. Instead, there's just a hopeless sort of sadness in her expression. She will try and deny it, but Padma has always been terrible at hiding these things.

"Come on. You, me, mini golf?" Parvati offers.

Padma snorts. "No one like miniature golf."

"I do." Parvati smirks, folding her arms over her chest. "What's your clever comeback for that, genius?"

Padma's lips twitch into an almost smile. She just shakes her head, wiping her hands onto her white apron and leaving a chocolatey streak across the material. "Terry didn't break up with me. I…" A moment of silence passes, like she's trying to find the words to say. "I broke up with him."

"What on earth possessed you to do that?"

Padma and Terry are perfect for each other. Maybe there's a part of Parvati that has always been a little jealous of their forever love. Breaking up seems impossible.

Padma sighs heavily. "I… He didn't really love me," she says. "I think he loved the idea of me, but not who I actually am."

Maybe Parvati can see it. She just stares in silence, unsure of what to say.

"I do love him," Padma adds. "That's why I did it. I want him to find the person who is right for him, even if it means that I'm alone."

Parvati shakes her head and moves closer, wrapping her arms around her sister. "You aren't alone. You have me. Always and forever."

Maybe it hadn't been forever love. Maybe those fairytale endings and happily ever afters are reserved for story books.

But that's okay. A twin's love is unconditional. In the end, that will always have each other.


	57. Meet Dominique (Victoire and Dominique)

_Word Count: 486_

* * *

"You have been weirdly quiet," Victoire notes, pulling the brush through Dominique's strawberry blonde hair. "What gives?"

Dominique blushes. Why does her sister have to know her so well? She thinks anyone else wouldn't think anything of it. But Victoire understands; she can see something in Dominique's eyes or the tense set of her shoulders.

She shifts uncomfortably, adjusting the straps of the dark blue gown she's borrowed from Victoire. It isn't her style, far too girly, but she loves the dark color. She has to wear a dress for her grandparents' anniversary, but she would be much happier in jeans and a shirt. At least the Weasley side of the family wouldn't care.

"Dom?" Victoire pauses, her gaze meeting Dominique's in the mirror.

She wants to say she's fine and everything is just perfect so Victoire can concentrate on fixing Dominique's hair. Hasn't she done a good job denying it for so long?

Maybe that's exactly why she's so on edge now. The dress isn't her. Something about the blue satin makes her want to jump out of her skin.

"It's nothing."

Her sister shakes her head. "Don't. Don't you even dare. This isn't _nothing._" She sets the brush aside, carefully twisting Dominique's hair this way and that, forming some elegant knot that Dominique could never manage. "Talk to me."

Domonique sighs. Talking should be easy, but she doesn't even know where to begin. She isn't ashamed, but she has kept this secret to herself for so long that speaking it aloud almost feels like a betrayal. "I'm… Vic, I'm a lesbian."

There's no dramatic gasp, no shocked response. Instead, Victoire just shrugs. "I know."

"You… What? How?" Dominique demands.

With a roll of her eyes, Victoire lifts a bottle of perfume and sniffs it before trading it in for a different bottle. "I've seen the way you look at Nina Creevey," she says. "I always thought it was pretty obvious."

Dominique wonders if she should be offended. Instead, she just laughs, her posture relaxing as relief floods her body. "That… That was so needlessly terrifying," she says, shaking her head.

"I think Freddy is about your size," Victoire says, taking a step back and studying Dominique. "Maybe a little taller, but his suits should fit you. I'll get one."

"Wait! A suit?"

Victoire grins. "I figure my tomboy lesbian sister would probably feel infinitely more comfortable in a suit than a dress."

Laughing softly, Dominique nods. Victoire has a very valid point there. "You know they'll hate it," she says.

Hate is hardly an exaggeration. Her French grandparents have their way of thinking, and Dominique has always tried to be someone else because it's the only way she can make them happy.

"I think it's time that they truly meet their granddaughter, don't you?"

The thought terrifies her, but Dominique finds herself nodding her agreement. Maybe it's time that she stops living in denial.


	58. Weasley Cake (Weasleys)

_Ag Science, task 4: Write about something that has layers._

_Word Count: 931_

* * *

The bottom layer is chocolate cake with chocolate icing and topped with crushed chocolate chip cookies, Ginny's favorite. Well, Molly isn't sure if it's actually Ginny's favorite, only that her daughter's eyes always light up whenever there's chocolate around.

_"Mum!" Fred cries, storming into the living room, his freckled cheeks a livid purple. "Ginny's stolen my Chocolate Frogs!"_

_Ginny comes running in behind her brother, and it takes every ounce of control not to laugh. The proof is all over her face. Streaks of chocolate are smeared across her lips and chin. Still, she folds her arms over her chest, stomping her foot in defiance. "Have not! He's lying, Mummy!"_

_Molly just shakes her head and sets her knitting aside. She climbs to her feet and scoops her youngest up. "Come, my little chocolate thief," she says. "Let's get you cleaned up." She pauses and looks over at Fred who is still visibly fuming. "You can have a cookie before lunch, dear."_

_And just like that, her son's anger fades. His eyes widen, lips twisting into a wide grin. "Thanks, Mum!"_

The second layer is a soft yellow. Molly has never known anyone to love lemon cake the way Ron does, but she doesn't question it. If it makes him happy, then that's all that matters.

She tops the cake with cream cheese icing before adding ribbons of candied lemon peel. Perfect.

_"Limmim," two-year-old Ron says proudly, holding up the fruit and grinning a mostly toothless grin. _

_"Hand it here, Ronnie," Molly says, holding out her hand expectantly. "Lemons are too sour for little boys.'_

_Instead, Ron sticks the lemon in his mouth, sucking and chewing. Molly waits for the inevitable fallout when her youngest son gets lemon juice on her tongue. She can still barely stand the taste without plenty of sugar to balance it out; she can only imagine what it must be like for his sensitive taste buds._

_Ron doesn't seem to mind. He makes a face, but he still grins. "Limmim!"_

The third layer is a perfect split. Fred and George agree on so much, but cake has never been one of them. George's half is strawberry with chocolate icing, while Fred's half is vanilla with buttercream.

_"How come there's more vanilla?" George asks, huffing, his bottom lip quivering._

_"It's equal," Molly assures him._

_George doesn't look convinced, and Fred does nothing to ease the tension. He hovers over the cake, grinning triumphantly, like he's won the greatest prize. "See? There's about five whole inches of vanilla!"_

_"Mum!"_

_Molly heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose, leaving a smear of cake batter behind. "Next year, you two are getting separate cakes." She adjusts her apron. "I promise."_

Percy's layer is a basic yellow cake with pecans mixed in, topped with fudge frosting. Once frosted, Molly tops it with extra pecans.

_Percy likes to watch Molly bake. She doesn't think he really pays attention to what she does. Instead, he sits at the table, digging into the bowl of freshly harvested pecans and munching on them as he splits his attention between Molly and his book._

_"Why don't you ever use pecans?" he asks, straightening his glasses._

_Molly considers. Fabian always loved pecans too, and their mother would make a special batch of brownies just for him. Of course, Molly and Gideon would always convince their brother to share or trade for their own special snacks._

_"I think you have a clever idea," she tells him. "Would you like to help me?"_

_Percy hesitates. It's clear that he prefers reading to actually doing. A moment passes, and he sets his book aside. "What do I do?"_

Next comes a moist white cake, drizzled with a mixture of sweetened condensed milk and whipped cream, then covered with shredded coconut. Sometimes she wonders if Charlie genuinely likes coconut, or if he keeps up the illusion out of pure spite.

_"Nobody likes coconut!" Bill insists with confidence and certainty that only a six year old can have._

_"Yes-huh!" Charlie counters, tiny hands forming fists. Molly is afraid she may have to intervene. "I do!"_

_"You've never even had coconut!"_

_Charlie seems to be rendered momentarily speechless by his brother. After several moments of silent reflection, the younger of the two makes his way over, looking up at Molly with sad but determined eyes. "Mummy! I want coconut!"_

The final layer smells of spices and warmth as Molly adds the cream cheese frosting. Carrot cake hasn't always been Bill's favorite, but he's requested it for every birthday since his first year at Hogwarts.

_"They call me a carrot-top!" Bill frets, tugging at his red hair. "Why can't I change my hair color, Mum?"_

_Molly sighs. She remembers her own issues with her hair color. Over the years, she's learned to embrace it. Still, it can be difficult. "You look lovely with red hair." She affectionately caresses his cheek. "Besides, carrots are delicious."_

_Her eldest scowls at that, shaking his head. "I hate carrots."_

_A thought occurs to her, and she summons a large bowl. "Well, that's because you've never had carrot cake before."_

_His eyes widen, curiosity overtaking his frustration. Bill approaches, leaning against the counter. "You can make a cake out of carrots?"_

Molly takes a step back, smiling to herself. It isn't the prettiest cake, nor is it as elegant as some of the others that she's made in the past. Like her family, it is unique and made up of so many different layers, and it sometimes clashes in seemingly impossible ways.

And still, she loves it.


	59. Silver and Emerald (Regulus)

_For Truth or Dare over at Quidditch League. Use your favorite color as inspiration._

* * *

Silver and emerald. Regulus touches the tie, trailing his finger down one colored stripe, then the other. This is what he's wanted for long, what he's supposed to be.

Blacks are Slytherins. Anything else is unheard of and dangerous.

But that's just it, isn't it? It isn't unheard of now, and that's exactly why his tie doesn't feel quite right now.

His eyes drift over to the Gryffindor table where Sirius sits, laughing with his friends. Sirius is not dressed in silver and emerald, like a good Black is meant to be. It defies everything Regulus has ever known, and it's meant to keep them apart, to make Regulus hare him.

It doesn't. Something deep within Regulus stirs, and it makes his heart ache. Part of him wants to be there with Sirius. As long as he can remember, Regulus has always looked at his brother like he's some sort of hero. It isn't fair that something as simple as the colors on their ties can separate them and weaken their bond.

Sirius looks up, catching his eye. For a moment, Regulus feels the briefest flutter of hope. This is it; this is the moment he's been waiting for, and everything is going to be okay. Despite their differences, they will still be brothers, still be friends. Prejudice cannot shake them.

Sirius' eyes flicker to Regulus' tie. There's a flicker of something like pain that crosses his face, but it is quickly replaced by disgust. Eyes narrowing, he returns his attention to his friends.

The world seems to grow a little colder. Despite the warmth in the Great Hall and the excited chatter as the feast begins, Regulus has never felt so cold, so alone.

Sirius doesn't look at him again, not once.

Regulus adjusts his tie. Silver and emerald. He is a Black, a Slytherin, and his brother hates him for it.

It isn't fair that he will never have everything that he wants.


	60. Not Alone (Minerva and Horace)

"Ah. Sorry to just barge in, Minerva!" Horace says, his voice surprisingly cheerful, despite the hell they've been through over the past twenty-four hours. "Your door was open. I suppose I still should have knocked…"

Under ordinary circumstances, Minerva might be upset with him. She doesn't have the energy left. Maybe, if she's honest, she's grateful for the intrusion. "Come in, Horace."

And he does, lifting a bottle of wine. "For you," he tells her, quickly summoning glasses and pouring them both a generous serving.

She almost laughs. "So many heinous crimes have been committed today," she says, "and here we are, drinking wine like nothing has happened at all."

His lips quirk into a sad smile. "No. It isn't like that," he says. "We are drinking because I think you need a friend. Tomorrow, you will have to take charge again, but tonight you can relax."

Minerva shakes her head. _Relax. _It seems like such a foreign concept. When has she last truly relaxed? She can hardly remember a time when she didn't feel like she was going to break.

Still, she manages a smile. Horace is right; she _does _need a friend. The war has finally ended, and her heart is so heavy. Though she and Horace have never truly seen eye to eye on most things, she is grateful to call him a friend. In that moment, he is the only one to treat her normally, to make her feel maybe things truly will be okay in the end.

She sips her wine, lips curling into a more solid smile. "To friends," she says.

Horace returns her smile. "To friends." He sips from his own glass. "And to remembering that we are never alone."

It doesn't feel like that, especially after the day they've had. Still, she could feel the faintest flutter of hope.


	61. Becoming (Dudley and Vernon)

_For Lo. Happy belated birthday. Ily bunches._

* * *

_"It hurts to become."_

_Andrea Gibson _

i.

When you're a baby, you really see him. Of course, you've seen him every day for your entire life, but he isn't so fuzzy and blurry anymore. "Da!" Your chubby little fists bang against the floor. "Da!"

"Did you hear that, Petunia? Little tyke knows me."

If you could process tone and emotion, you would hear the pride in his voice. Maybe you would even know that this is the only time you ever made him cry.

"Da!" You clap and giggle, bouncing happily as a stream of nonsense spill from your mouth.

ii.

You break your cousin's finger when you're four. It's an accident, and you don't mean to. Still, Harry cries and cries, and you're scared he's going to have to get it cut off.

Your dad finds you, and you just know you're going to be in trouble. They don't like Harry, but you've still done something bad. Even they can't pretend that this is okay.

But your dad doesn't go to Harry with open arms. Instead, he pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back gently. "Little tyke doesn't know his strength," he soothes.

And as Harry cries, you find yourself smiling because you know you are a special, important boy.

iii.

At ten, you steal your dad's cigar and light it. The smoke tastes funny, and it makes you cough.

Piers just rolls his eyes. "That's not how you do it," he says, snatching the cigar from you.

That's when your dad finds you. Panic grips your insides, and you point an accusing finger. "Piers did it!" you insist, and of course your father believes you.

In his eyes, you are his special, perfect boy, and you can do no wrong. As for Piers, everyone in the neighborhood knows that he's troubled.

Your dad buys you ice cream for your honesty, and he tells Piers' parents what happened. You aren't allowed to see your best friend for a week. When you see him again, you notice the bruises on his arms that have faded to a yellow-green.

But it isn't your fault. It can't be.

You aren't quite convinced.

iv.

When you're fourteen, the school calls you fat. Your mother frets over you, crying because it just isn't true. Maybe she's blind, because you are so painfully aware of your size.

"The bastards at that school wouldn't know fat if it ran through the halls and threw glitter at them," your father grumbles. "Don't tell your mother, but we're going out."

_Out _is a little pub with juicy burgers and crispy chips. You can't remember the last time you've had anything more filling than two bowls of salad instead of the recommended one.

Still, you hesitate because this isn't right. The school is concerned. You're not supposed to do this.

He sees your hesitation and shakes his head. "I know what's best," he says with so much conviction that you have to believe him.

If your dad says so, who are you to argue? You tuck in.

v.

When you're fifteen, your eyes really open. Those things have shown you what you really are.

You never meant to be a bully, never even realized that's what you've become. All you have done is exactly what you've been shown.

And who has shown you how to behave? Who has rewarded your cruelty and renamed it strength?

Your dad sits beside you. Maybe it's the first time you've truly seen him in all these years. He isn't the strong and invulnerable superhero you've always believed him to be. He's just a man, lackluster and maybe a little disappointing.

"Your mother says we have to keep the boy here," he tells you.

That isn't a bad thing. What would have happened if Harry hadn't been there? He had no reason to save you. God knows you have been nothing but hateful to him over all these years.

But he saved you, and you can never repay him for that. Letting him continue to live here seems like the very least you can do.

"Good." You climb to your feet and leave, not even caring if he sees you pull a cigarette from your pocket.

Maybe you're tired of being his special, perfect boy.

vi.

At seventeen, you don't know how to feel anymore. There's something about this little cabin in the woods that makes you feel both free and on edge.

You don't really try to talk to your dad these days. It isn't that you hate him, but you can't hide the resentment.

Fathers are supposed to prepare their sons for this world. What have you done? What have you become? He has guided you, but it isn't the right path, and now you are breaking yourself apart, trying so desperately to become something else, to unlearn the things he has given you to hold in your soul as gospel.

You break away. You break free.

But you can never stop loving your dad.


	62. Comfort and Cake (Piers)

_Muggle Studies, task 2: Write about someone worrying about where someone is _

_Word Count: 752_

* * *

Piers knocks; no one answers. Frowning, he takes a step back, looking around. It isn't unusual for Dudley and his parents to not be home, but Dudley usually tells him beforehand.

There's something different about this, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

He knocks again, harder and louder this time. His bony knuckles come away with red splotches and a soft, throbbing ache in the muscles of his hand. There's no way they couldn't hear them. Pressing his ear to the door confirms that it's silent inside.

_It's okay, _he tells himself. _People pack up and go on impromptu trips all the time._

Except that he's reasonably sure that Vernon Dursley doesn't have a spontaneous bone in his body.

Still, worrying about it seems pointless. What good will it do? Is he going to knock on every door until someone tells him where his best friend has disappeared to?

With a sigh and a shrug, Piers turns and walks away.

…

"You are just in time for cake!" Max says brightly, gesturing at the freshly frosted chocolate-on-chocolate-topped-with-more-chocolate cake.

Normally, it would make him smile. His cousin-turned-guardian is practically famous for his chocolate chip cookies, but his chocolate cakes are out of this world. Today, however, his mind is so far away, too occupied by thoughts of Dudley and the strangely empty house on Privet Drive. Even baked goods cannot get through to him.

Max clears his throat. "I'm not sure that you heard me," he says. "I said we have cake. For lunch. Cake for lunch, Piers. Come on. Give me something here."

Piers just sighs heavily, folding his thin arms over his chest. "Did Mrs. Dursley mention going out of town?" he asks.

Dudley's mum usually stops by once or twice a week to buy desserts from Max. The two seem to have struck up something of a friendship. According to Dudley, she dotes on Max often.

"Not to me," Max says, dark brows raising. "Why? Did they send a postcard?"

"No. They're… gone." Piers swallows, hating the way his throat tries to tighten. "They're just gone."

…

Day after day, Piers goes back to Number Four. There are no signs of life to be found. The lush green grass begins to turn brown in spots after a week of no water. The hydrangeas by the window begin to droop. Petunia Dursley would never let her yard get like this. She has always cared too much about what the neighbors would think.

It doesn't seem possible, and he doesn't understand. Why would they just leave? Wouldn't they have asked strange Mrs. Figg to tend to their lawn while they were gone?

Unless they aren't coming back… Unless they're gone for good, and Dudley hadn't even bothered to tell him goodbye.

…

"There has to be a reason for it," Max tells him as they sit down at the dinner table.

Piers drums his fingers anxiously against the table, nodding. "Sure." But he doesn't sound so convinced.

What reason could there possibly be to leave without saying goodbye? Is Dudley in danger? Has something awful happened to force them out of their home in the dead of night, under the cover of shadows and secrecy?

No. The obvious is there, at the back of his mind. Its tendrils dig into his brain, always clouding his thoughts. He would never voice them aloud, of course, because he knows how silly it would sound.

Maybe Dudley didn't want to tell him goodbye. Maybe, whatever the reason for their disappearance, he had been glad to be rid of Piers. Maybe that's why he never told Piers at all.

Tears sting his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. He will not cry; he will not show weakness.

"They'll be back," Max says, his dark curls bouncing as he nods his head. "Just wait."

"I'm not even worried about it," Piers says, but his voice cracks, betraying the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

He _is _worried, and he does care. His best friend is gone, but now he's wondering if they're even friends at all.

Max sighs, offering him a soft smile. "Cake?"

Piers can't help but laugh. Cake isn't going to fix his paranoia and insecurities any more than it will make Dudley appear on their doorstep with an apology and a funny story about how his dad got called away to some great drilling convention in Milan. Still, maybe it will make him feel better.

At the very least, a little cake won't hurt.


	63. A Single Spark (PercyPenelope)

Reserve League, Season 8, Round 1, Chaser 1: The Lover- connection

Word Count: 1055

* * *

Percy is so tired. It isn't as though he's done anything particularly strenuous. It isn't the physical sort of tired that comes with a hard day's work. Rather, this is the sort of exhaustion that comes from forcing smiles and pretending everything is okay.

And he can't tell a damn person about it.

The Ministry isn't the same. No one really comments on it out loud, but he knows that everyone knows. The Ministry has fallen, and he cannot safely talk about his concerns. He can just imagine their mocking taunts now.

So, you want to be a blood traitor, Weasley?

Look at the baby weasel, missing Mummy and Daddy.

Sometimes he wonders if maybe mockery is better than nothing at all. Merlin, he's just so fucking lonely.

He pours himself another glass of wine, and he drinks because numb oblivion is better than this.

…

"Percy?"

He looks up, surprised to see a kind, familiar face. Penelope smiles at him; he wishes he could return the smile.

"You look well," she says, but she doesn't mean it. Percy knows exactly how he looks.

"Thanks," he says, accepting his coffee from the barista.

"Still at the Ministry?"

He nods, wishing his heart would stop fluttering so rapidly. Can Penelope hear it? If she can, she doesn't say anything. "Still working at St. Mungo's?"

"I am."

"Great. Well… See you around," he says, and he turns and walks away.

It's such a small spark, but it is everything in that moment. It's the first hint of connection that he's felt in so long, and yet he feels even lonelier.

He never should have left her. He doesn't deserve her now.

…

He drinks alone because it's easier this way. Alone, no one will pry. No one will make him talk before he's ready. Alcohol loosens his tongue so easily that a bar would become a minefield.

"I really just want them to see me," he says, his words slurring, "to remember I exist."

But he never reaches out, never really tries.

He grabs a new bottle, something stronger than elderberry wine, something to take it all away. The cap is gone now, and he doesn't bother with a glass. He just wants to be numb.

…

Penelope just happens to be in the Atrium, and she just happens to have a bag of Jelly Slugs. "Your favorite," she says, confirming that this isn't a coincidence, and she is there for a reason.

Why is Percy the reason? He isn't worth this effort.

He pulls his pocket watch out, pretending to be interested in the time. "You'll have to excuse me," he says. "I'm running late."

"Your ears turn pink when you lie," she says dryly. "Did you know that."

Percy sighs. "Fine. I'm not late," he says. "I actually have about half an hour to kill."

"Kill it with me? I was about to go for some ice cream, if you'd like to join me."

Why does she want this? Hasn't he shown her again and again that he isn't worth it? He doesn't understand what is going on inside her head, but maybe he wants to.

"Ice cream sounds perfect," he says, finally accepting the bag of Jelly Slugs.

…

"Can you feel it?" Penelope asks when she joins him for a glass of wine after dinner. "Things are changing."

"I know," he confirms.

She reaches out and takes his hand. It's such a simple touch, but it feels so significant, like this is everything he has been searching for.

"No one should be alone during this," she whispers.

…

The darkness still surrounds him. He had hoped that Penelope could change that, that all he needs is that one connection, that radiant spark to drive away the shadows. Maybe it isn't perfect, but he embraces it. He will let her in because she feels like home.

Slowly, the bottle begins to look less tempting. He is no longer drowning.

…

"What happened with you and your family?" Penelope asks.

They're sitting on the couch together, her head on his chest, as they watch the flames dance in the fireplace. She comes over more and more now until she has almost become a permanent fixture in his life.

"I was an idiot," he answers.

She snorts. "Well, I know that," she says. "You didn't actually answer my question."

How can he? The shame is still so heavy. He feels it in the marrow of his bones. It has become so heavily ingrained in everything that he is.

Ambition had blinded him. He had chosen himself over his family, and it makes him sick.

"Perce?" Her hand finds his, thumb brushing gently over his knuckles.

"I don't think you would like me very much if I told you the truth."

She squeezes his hand, a gentle reassurance that helps him find his voice. Maybe it's okay. If anyone could understand, maybe it could be her.

The words fall from his lips, and he puts his soul. He's grateful he can't see her expression. What must she think of him? Will there be judgement and hatred in those kind eyes he loves so much? He wouldn't blame her.

Silence hangs between them, and he can only imagine what she will say to him, what she must be thinking. He braces himself, preparing for the worst.

"You really are an idiot," she says, the affection in her voice surprising. "But don't worry. It isn't the end of the world. You can come back from this."

The thought seems so far-fetched that he can't help but to scoff. "How?"

"Just reach out to them," she answers. "It worked with me, didn't it?"

He pulls away, studying her curiously. "That's different."

"Yeah, it is. I'm not your family, so I'm not obligated to love you." She leans in, brushing her fingertips over his cheeks. "Your family loves you. You know that."

He really does. His father still smiles at him in the corridors of the Ministry, and his mother has written him countless letters. Even Bill invited him to his wedding.

"I'll do it," he says, exhaling softly. "I swear I will when I'm ready."

If Penelope is a spark in the darkness, who knows what will come of embracing his family once again. All he can do is try.


	64. Play House and Pretend (Petunia)

_Reserve League, Season 8, Round 1, Captain: weakness_

_Word Count: 980_

* * *

She wakes to screaming. It's faint, but Petunia is a mother, and it's Dudley's voice, so of course she is out of bed in an instant. Vernon is snoring, undisturbed, unaware. Maybe she envies him for it.

She doesn't dwell on it for long; she hurries from the room, into the hallway, and through Dudley's door. Her son is tangled in the sheets. The milky moonlight illuminates the beads of sweat on his forehead. He sits up, gasping for breath. "Mummy!"

_Mummy._ Not _Mum._ She can't remember the last time he's called her that. He's been too busy growing up and being too big and strong to be vulnerable.

"I'm here, Dudders," she soothes, moving closer and brushing her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "It was a nightmare. Just a bad dream."

"They were here. The… The Dementors found us," he whispers, shuddering.

He hasn't been the same since the attack. Sometimes Petunia can still see a hollow, haunted look in his eyes. She wonders if he will ever overcome it.

Her heart breaks, shattering painfully. As a mother, her job is to keep him safe? How can she? Their time in hiding has made her realize exactly how weak she is, how helpless she will be if anything ever happens. Hestia and Dedalus have done more to defend and protect her son than she has.

"Mummy?"

"It's okay, darling," she tells him, guiding him back to his pillow. She presses a kiss to his forehead. "Close your eyes."

"I'm scared."

She is weak. She is useless. Why is she here, but Lily isn't? Her sister had always been strong. Lily would know what to do and say now.

"Go to sleep, my darling," she whispers. "It was just a dream. Just a nasty nightmare."

Dudley blinks slowly. His eyes close. After several moments, his snores feel the tiny room, and he is lost to the world of sleep once again. Petunia relaxes, but just barely. Tears cling to her lashes.

What is she doing here? If anything happens, what can she do to keep her precious boy safe?

She needs a cigarette.

…

Vernon doesn't know about her habit. He wouldn't approve anyway. Dedalus keeps her secret; he is kind enough to bring her a pack whenever she starts to run low.

Petunia leans against a tree on the edge of the boundary. No one can see her from the house. It has become her little hiding place, the perfect place to escape to whenever she needs to get away and remember how to breathe.

The lighter's flame bursts forward, illuminating the darkness with a brief warm glow. She lights the cigarette and inhales.

"Bad habit." Hestia stops in front of her, smiling. "Are you okay?"

"No." Petunia wants to leave it at that. Hestia barely knows her. She doesn't care that Petunia is losing her mind, that she is on the verge of breaking down at any moment. "I'm weak."

It feels good to say it aloud. She has to play a part and pretend that everything is okay. Vernon needs to believe that she is still the perfect housewife he married. Dudley needs to believe that she can keep him safe.

But she isn't so sure anymore. The nagging doubt is there, and it is suffocating.

"You don't have anything to prove," Hestia says kindly. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Petunia."

She scoffs, taking another drag of the cigarette. The tobacco crackles as it burns, the sound strangely calming. "I don't feel strong at all."

"You are. Maybe you don't see it, but I do. I know you don't like magic, but you've put your own biases aside so that you can help protect your family. Could a weak person do that?"

It doesn't feel significant, or like she's done anything that counts as strong. Still, she doesn't want to argue. If Hestia wants to see something that isn't there, it isn't Petunia's place to correct her.

"You're holding your family together, even if you're just as scared. That's pretty damn brave," Hestia tells her. "If you'll excuse me, I have to finish my patrol."

When Hestia leaves, Petunia finds herself smiling. She still doesn' believe it. Not really. Maybe she will never see it for herself.

But maybe, just maybe, she is stronger than she realizes.

…

Dudley is the first one in the kitchen the next morning, after Petunia. He's smiling, but he still looks so tired. Dark circles line his eyes, making him look older than he is. Petunia wonders if this will permanently scar him, if there's no hope for him to become the joyful boy he had once been, still so innocent and carefree.

"I haven't started breakfast yet, darling," she tells him. "Why don't you go rest a bit while I cook?"

Dudley shakes his head. "I wanted to help, Mum," he says. "You do so much. It's the least I can do."

She can't remember a time he's ever helped with anything domestic. Her heart melts. "You don't have to."

"No," Dudley agrees, shrugging his shoulder, "but I want to."

_You're holding your family together. _

Maybe she is. Maybe they would fall apart without her guidance. It doesn't feel like bravery or strength. She isn't doing anything grand like protecting her family and fighting to keep them safe in these dark, chaotic times.

Maybe she isn't as weak as she thinks, and this is her own sort of strength.

"You can start by cracking the eggs," she says.

She isn't sure that she can keep her family safe, but maybe she can keep them okay. If she wears a smile and plays her part, things will fall into place. They will feel safe, like maybe things are normal.

If that's all she can do, she will take it. They will play house, and Petunia will pretend.


	65. Always a Seed (BlaiseDaphne)

_Word Count: 1002_

* * *

_"I would give away the sweetest memories if I could just be with you again."_

_-"Pollen and Salt" by Daphne Loves Derby_

* * *

"Isn't it so exciting?" Astoria asks, smiling as she adjusts the decorative pin in her hair. "Maybe we will finally meet our soulmates!"

Daphne smiles because she knows she is supposed to. Attending the Soulmate Search at Malfoy Manor is meant to be an honor. Most people go through life, aimlessly searching for their perfect match. Only the lucky few have the privilege of attending balls like this.

She glances down at the soulmark on her wrist, a seed that has not budged since it appeared on her skin when she turned eleven. Someone out there has the same seed. When they touch for the first time, their marks will bloom into something beautiful.

Try as she might, she can't bring herself to feel even the faintest shred of excitement.

She has already fallen in love, and he is not her soulmate.

…

_"You should be careful. I hear the Giant Squid likes to kidnap beautiful girls and drag them to his lair."_

_Daphne looks up to see Blaise Zabini standing there, grinning down at her. She just rolls her eyes. "Shut up."_

_"I mean it," he says, sitting beside her and gesturing toward her bare feet that she's resting in the dark water. "I'm just looking out for you."_

_He says it with such a seriousness that she can't help but laugh. Blaise Zabini, the boy who is so above everyone and everything around him, has chosen to sit by her and talk like they're friends. Maybe she should feel special._

…

"You look beautiful in green," Astoria says, a hint of envy in her tone. "It never works with my complexion."

Daphne just snorts, adjusting the straps of her jade green gown. Her sister looks beautiful in anything she wears. Daphne just suspects that Astoria is trying to get her to open up. Daphne knows she's been quiet during their preparations, but she can't bring herself to speak, so scared that she will say too much, that the floodgates will open, and she will be left vulnerable.

…

_He kisses her first. They're in the greenhouse alone, working on a project because he needs help and she's good with plants. _

_His lips find hers, and she pulls away. There's something so beautiful about the kiss; it feels so right, and she finds herself feeling tranquil._

_But it's wrong. "We aren't soulmates," she says softly._

_The seed is still aside. Blaise isn't the one._

_So why does it feel like he is? _

_"We don't have to be," he tells her._

_She shakes her head. There are people out there who can meet their and marry someone else. They don't have that luxury. Their families are bound by tradition._

_"We do."_

_He kisses her again, and maybe she changes her mind._

…

Daphne studies her reflection. She really does look beautiful. She wonders if Blaise is here, if he is getting ready now. Can they dance together and just pretend? Can they find a way to convince the world that they're meant to be, despite what their soulmarks say?

…

_"Are you hungry?" He grins at her, lifting the bowl of fruit. _

_"Someone could see us."_

_The common room is empty. It's been over an hour since anyone has stepped foot out of their dormitory. It isn't safe, and she knows she should be cautious, but she feels more invincible than she will ever admit. Blaise must feel it too._

_"We're just two friends, sharing a few strawberries and grapes," he says innocently. _

_How does he make her so brave? When she is with him, she doesn't care about rules or traditions. Blaise is the only thing that matters._

_When the bowl is empty, they sit together, watching the flames in the fireplace. He holds her hand, and she waits for the seed to do something, like its response is just delayed. It remains the same, as it always does._

_"How about a goodnight kiss?" he asks, and he offers her a grin that melts her heart. How can she say no?_

_She leans in, pressing her lips to his. It's such a perfect moment, and she wants nothing more than to capture it, freeze it in time, and live there forever._

_"I love you," he whispers._

_She says it back. It's the easiest thing in the world._

…

She doesn't want to go. She would give up anything to be able to have just one more moment with Blaise, to pretend that the world outside doesn't exist. It isn't fair.

Daphne is lovesick. Just knowing that Blaise is not her soulmate feels like a knife in her chest. Still, she holds her head high; she will be strong through this.

…

_"I will love you forever," she tells him._

_"I'm just sorry that we aren't meant to be." He smiles sadly before handing her a bouquet of flowers. Daisies, her favorite. "I love you. Always."_

_Their lips meet, and she can taste goodbye in his kiss._

...

She grips her glass of wine, watching as the others dance. Some have found their soulmates and are dancing with the same person through multiple dances, while others change partners with every song, desperately hoping to find _the one._

Daphne hasn't even tried to dance yet. Maybe she doesn't want to know; maybe she would be happier without ever meeting her soulmate at all.

Across the room, Blaise catches her attention. There's a girl attached to his arm, and she looks absolutely starstruck, like she's the luckiest person in this room. Daphne can't help but agree.

She finishes her wine in one quick gulp and turns, walking away. In that moment, she decides that her seed will always be a seed. It will remain there, unchanged. If she has to live in a world where Blaise isn't her soulmate, then she will live in one where she doesn't have a soulmate at all.


	66. Choose Happiness (Andromeda)

_Word Count: 1200_

* * *

They're halfway through dinner when Andromeda decides that she can't hold it in anymore. She takes a deep breath and sets her fork down. "Mother, Father," she says, and her heart is racing so fast that her chest aches. "I have something to tell you."

Bellatrix catches her gaze, eyes narrowing. She knows exactly what Andromeda is going to say. As a warning, she shakes her head, her meaning clear.

_Don't do this. You're making a mistake._

But Andromeda doesn't think she is. How can falling in love really be a mistake.

"I… I know that it is tradition for you to choose my future husband, but I have decided to save you the trouble." If she phrases it that way, maybe they will see it as a favor and ignore who it is that she has fallen in love with.

Her mother's head tips curiously to the side. "You have chosen?" she asks. "How unconventional."

"How scandalous!" Narcissa chimes in, giggle with a little too much excitement.

Andromeda clears her throat. "Quite," she agrees, hoping they can leave it at that.

"And what is wrong with Antonin Dolohov?" her father demands.

"To be fair, he has the personality of wet bread," Bellatrix mutters, and Andromeda is surprised. It's something close to defense.

Her father scowls, pouring himself another generous helping of Scotch. "Well? Who is he, then? Maybe you will get lucky, Andromeda."

Her mother tenses. Is she resentful? Andromeda knows that she never wanted to marry her Andromeda's father, that she had been bound by duty. Andromeda almost feels bad for her.

"Ted," Andromeda answers. "Ted Tonks."

"The _Mudblood_?" Narcissa demands, nose wrinkling.

"Don't call him that!" Andromeda snaps, and she wants to reach for her wand and hex the tongue right out of her younger sister's skull.

"It's what he is," Bellatrix says dryly. "He is a Mudblood, Andi, and you know that we would never destroy our family's reputation that way."

But Andromeda doesn't care about their reputation. Isn't it time for their family to move on? These prejudices are outdated. She once held them, but Ted has shown her another way; he has opened her eyes, and she can't ever go back to the way things once were.

"What's so special about him?" Narcissa asks, folding her arms over her chest. "He is just a man. Just a boring man."

"Enough!" Their father rises to his feet. "I will hear no more of this _Tonks _boy. Andromeda, you will marry Antonin, and you will never even think about this Mudblood again. Do I make myself clear?"

She wants to argue, but there's such a sharp finality in his words. Her voice falters. Andromeda hangs her head in defeat. "Yes, Father," she says in a whispered hiss.

…

Bellatrix is practically gloating when she walks into Andromeda's bedroom that night. Andromeda scowls, smoothing out the creases in her lemon yellow nightgown.

"You should have defended me!" Andromeda snaps, squaring her shoulders. "I am your sister!"

Bellatrix rolls her eyes and waves a dismissive hand, unimpressed by Andromeda's display of emotions. "Exactly. You are my sister, and I love you. That's why I'm trying to protect you from making the biggest mistake of your life, Andi!"

Andromeda scoffs. "My happiness is not a mistake."

"Do you think I will be happy with Rodolphus? The man is weak and spineless," Bellatrix says, stepping closer. She rests a surprisingly gentle hand on Andromeda's shoulder. "Happiness can be sacrificed, but our family's honor can't."

It's something that has been drilled into her brain from an early age. Family comes before everything. The Blacks are an ancient and noble family, and they will not tolerate those who refuse to comply.

Andromeda had never imagined that she would ever be faced with this choice. Does she defy her family and cling to her own happiness? She has seen the tapestry at Aunt Walburga's; she knows exactly what happens to those who do not get in line and go with the flow. Can she really risk it?

Truthfully, she is afraid. She wishes she could be brave enough to believe that love is all she needs to save herself. In the end, she doesn't think that she has the strength.

"I love you," Bellatrix says, patting her cheek affectionately. "When this is over, you'll see that, and you'll forget you ever thought you loved him."

Andromeda doesn't believe that. She loves Ted in a way that can never be duplicated. It is her once-in-a-lifetime love. Still, she smiles. "I'm sure you're right, Bella."

"Of course I am."

…

She's lost in a deep sleep when she hears a voice whisper her name. Andromeda groans, covering her face with her pillow. "Go to bed, Bellatrix," she says in sleepy, heavy tones.

"Andromeda!"

That isn't her sister's voice. Andromeda sits up, the pillow falling into her lap. She blinks in confusion, wondering if she is somehow still asleep.

No. Her mother is at her bedside, dressed in her nightgown. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy braid with stray hairs sticking out, indicating that she has at least been lying down.

"Mother? What is it? Has something happened?"

"This boy you love," her mother says, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "does he love you?"

Andromeda hesitates. Why does this feel like a trap?

If it were anyone else in the house, maybe it would be. But not her mother. The older woman understands better than anyone else.

"He asked me to marry him," Andromeda admits. "His family has a little cottage by the sea."

"Is he good to you?"

Andromeda smiles at that. _Good. _Ted is nothing but good. Even on her worst days, when she is not easy to love, he is always there with kind words and a smile. He kisses her until she feels better, until she can smile too.

"He's wonderful," Andromeda says, nodding. "I think you would like him, Mother."

"I already do." Her mother closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. There's an emotion on her face that Andromeda cannot quite name. Pain? Acceptance? Her eyes open again, and she offers Andromeda a smile. "I loved someone like that once."

"Who was it?"

Andromeda has always wondered, but she hasn't asked. She has her suspicions.

Her mother shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. I missed my chance, but you…" She looks at Andromeda with a wistful look of longing. "You can be happy."

She can barely believe what she's hearing. Is it really possible that her mother is giving her blessing?

"Go to him. I have a little bit of gold I will send to you at our Paris estate this weekend," she says. "It will be enough to get you set up and comfortable for a while."

Andromeda climbs out of bed, her head spinning. This is really happening.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Her mother nods. "I only wish that I was brave enough to choose my own happiness. Go. You need to leave tonight."

It turns out to be harder to leave than she thought, but, somehow, she finds the strength. She will get through this; she will be happy.


	67. Time to Act (Peter)

_Word Count: 365_

* * *

It has happened. Peter knows he should move on, keep going, because he knows that Sirius will eventually put the pieces together. He's frozen in place, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hands, but he doesn't even want to drink. His mind is already in a haze, and he doesn't know how to go on.

He sets the bottle aside, pacing anxiously, the guilt gnawing at his insides. Lily and James are dead, and it is his fault. He had known it would come to this, and now he feels himself slipping away with every step he takes.

This isn't him. He isn't some bloodthirsty monster. It's all about survival, and he has to believe that he has done the right thing. Maybe it isn't right for others, but it will keep him alive, and that has to count for something.

He pauses in his pacing, doubling over and throwing up. "Stop it," he tells himself as he wipes his mouth. "Stop it!"

There's nothing he can do. He has chosen his path, and he will do what he has to in order to stay alive.

So why does he feel like he might collapse? Why does regret twist his insides mercilessly?

"Keep going," he tells himself.

How long before Sirius finds him? He needs a plan of action. He needs to think.

But he can't. Tears sting his eyes, and he wipes them away furiously. Lily and James are dead. He is a monster. He doesn't deserve…

He shakes his head, like it's enough to shake away the demons in his head. It doesn't matter. He is _alive. _

But, oh, he is slipping away. He can feel it. As soon as he thinks that maybe he can get through this, it starts again. If he keeps going, there will be nothing left of who he was.

Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's time to be stronger, to stop being the spineless one, the one who no one ever cared for or took seriously. It is time to act, to strip away the weakness and become something more.

He takes a deep breath and nods to himself. He knows what he has to do.


	68. Snowy Traditions (Ron and Rose)

_For my dearest Ash._

_Word Count: 1172_

* * *

"Dad! Come on!" Rose latches onto Ron's arm the moment he steps through the door. "Come on!"

Ron just smiles. He already knows what has her so excited. Still, he has always enjoyed playing games with her. When she was younger, she would giggle and call him silly. Now that she's eleven, she has outgrown his teasing, but that doesn't stop him.

"Come on?" he echoes. "But, Rosie, I just got here. Can't I lie down, have a nice nap? Your mum has been telling me I should try yogurt."

"Yoga," Rose corrects, her eyes narrowing. She knows exactly what he's doing.

"Seems like a good afternoon to start learning."

"Dad!"

He laughs, a little too pleased with himself. Maybe the joke will grow old one day; for now, he still finds it hilarious.

"Let me change out of my work robes," he says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"Hurry!"

Still grinning, he makes his way to his bedroom. Hermione isn't home from the Ministry yet. Hugo is with her, as he always is. Their son is as attached to Hermione as Rose is to Ron. Ron has tried to get Hugo to go to work with him or spend the day with Ron's parents, but Hugo always insists that he wants to be the next Minister of Magic. Ron suspects Hugo has spent a little too much time talking with Percy.

It doesn't take long to change into a warm jumper and a fresh pair of jeans, but Rose looks impatient by the time he returns. She's practically bouncing with excitement, like she might jump through the roof.

"Have you been outside at all?" Ron asks.

She shakes her head, her beanie falling from the movement. "Of course not." She picks up her hat and tugs it over her head, covering her copper waves. "I was waiting for you."

It has been a tradition for them since Rose was four. Every year, they would spend the first snowfall of the winter together, playing in the snow until they're too cold. Then they would come inside and have a cup of cocoa. This year, Rose had been at school during the first snowfall. This is as close as they can get; the first snow during her winter holiday will have to do.

She slips a gloved hand into his, pulling him along. Ron finds himself laughing. Nothing else can fill her with this much delight.

"Slow down!" he calls. "I don't want to explain to your mother that you've broken your leg by slipping on ice again."

"That was one time!"

"Broken ankle and six distinct fractures, Rosie!"

She snorts, offering him a grin as she looks over his shoulder. "You're the one who always called me an overachiever."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't bother to point out that he has always meant with her eagerness to learn. She takes after her mother there.

They come to a stop in the field by the house. The ground is covered in a thick blanket of white that crunches beneath their boots. Fat flakes continue to drift slowly to the ground. Rose grins and holds out her arms like a bird ready to glide. She tilts her head back, lifting her freckled face toward the sky and poking her tongue out.

"Catch them, Dad!"

In the back of his mind, he can hear Hermione lecturing them about how the water isn't actually safe, and they need to only use water that has been filtered. Maybe he should mention it now. Instead, he follows Rose's lead and sticks out his tongue, catching a snowflake. It melts in an instant.

He's so lost in the moment that he barely even registers Rose stepping away. It doesn't seem significant at all until he feels a sudden cold weight slam against his neck. Ron yelps, reaching out to brush it away, only to realize there are just cold droplets left. It had been a snowball.

"Rosie! Never attack while your opponent's back is turned!"

She sends another one his way. It hits his chest, bursting at the impact. Giggling, she leans down, scooping up more snow. "It's a snowball fight, Dad. Not a duel."

"Fine. All bets are off." Quick as a flash, he forms a snowball and slings it, grazing her cheek and eliciting a squeal.

"Oi!"

"You didn't want rules for this," he reminds her. "It's on!"

She may have her youth and agility on her side, but Ron has one distinct advantage. He has experience. How many times did his siblings drag him into a snowball fight? Fred and George had been the worst and most creative. He still remembers the two of them pouring a bucket of ice and snow down his jumper.

He doesn't know how much time passes, only that his jumper is soaked through, and his teeth are chattering. Rose's cheeks are flushed pink, and she is out of breath and just as soaked as he is.

"I think we should call it a day," he says, gripping the bottom of his jumper and wringing some of the chilly water from it.

"But we've only just started!" she insists.

Ron groans. He is tempted, as always, to just give in. Who cares if he gets a little frostbite? If Rose is happy, that's all that should matter.

Still, he knows he needs to be the responsible one. He would never forgive himself if Rose got sick, even if it was easily cured with a Pepperup Potion.

"Come on," he says, wrapping an arm around her. "It's cold, and I think Aunt Fleur sent us some of the fancy cocoa last week."

Rose's eyes widen at that, a grin tugging at her lips. "The mint kind?" she asks. "Ooh! Or the orange kind? That's my favorite!"

"Only one way to find out."

He smiles as they walk toward the house. Hugo plays in the snow with him sometimes. Hermiome will join him on the porch and watch the snowfall. But neither of them really enjoy it the way he and Rose do. It is their special thing, the best part of winter. Ron can't remember a time when he didn't celebrate that first snow with his daughter.

"What are you going to do when you're older?" he asks as they climb the steps. "You're going to be too old and too cool to play in the snow with me one day."

Rose rolls her eyes. "Don't be daft. I'll be forty and still dragging you out in the snow." She smiles and nudges his shoulder gently. "You're my dad. This is what we do."

He doesn't know if that's true. He remembers a time when he would have been embarrassed to be seen playing with his parents. Unfortunately, it's part of growing up. One day, she won't need him anymore. One day, she'll have a child of her own, and they'll have their little traditions.

For now, though, he has her, and they have this moment, and that is all he needs.


	69. The Universe's Audacity (Drinny)

_For Lyrrie_

_Word Count: 414_

* * *

Ginny has never liked the words written across her arm. Her brothers all have nice little sentiments, the first words they'll ever hear their soulmate speak. Ginny, on the other hand, had been born with what feels like an insult permanently on her body.

_A Weasley? You have to be kidding me._

She looks at the words, scrawled across her skin in elegant scrawl, as if the pretty writing will somehow make up for the message there.

The girl across from her is staring. When Ginny looks up, she doesn't look away. Instead, she just smiles. "Mine says, 'You're a bit weird.'," she tells Ginny.

And Ginny believes it. She doesn't know the Lovegood family well, but she has heard her dad talk about them. Luna seems sweet, and she's nice enough to keep Ginny company in this compartment.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Ginny asks. "Shouldn't it be love at first sight? Instead, you know your soulmate will think you're weird."

Luna's smile broadens. "That's the beauty, isn't it? They're still my soulmate, and that means they will love me, weirdness and all." She purses her lips. "Daddy says _weird _isn't the right word for me. He says I'm special."

"Right, he is."

…

By the time they reach Hogsmeade Station, she's feeling more confident. Whatever reason her soulmate has for disliking her family doesn't matter. He will love her because their souls call to one another. What else is there to worry about?

"You know what? Anyone would be lucky to have me as a soulmate," Ginny says proudly.

She hears a groan in response, and she knows it isn't Luna. Instead, an older boy with white-blond hair is studying her with narrowed eyes like he can't decide if he likes what he sees.

"A Weasley?" he demands. "You have got to be kidding me." He nudges a menacing boy beside him. "With such an arrogant statement, I was surprised Pansy wasn't my soulmate."

It's then that she notices the words on his arm. _Anyone would be lucky to have me as a soulmate. _

As if they need more confirmation, she lifts her arm, brows raised. "A Weasley," she confirms, annoyed. "And you are?"

"Malfoy," he says. "Draco Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy. The boy Harry and Ron hate. The boy whose father fought her father in the middle of Flourish and Blotts. Of all the people in the world to be her soulmate, the universe has the audacity to choose a Malfoy.

"Well damn."


	70. Impact (Rabdromeda)

_Word Count: 378_

* * *

"How can you be upset with me?" Rabastan demands. "I am standing for something, Andi!"

She shakes her head and tries not to laugh. Really, there's nothing actually fun about the situation; she is just so flabbergasted that he can't see how stupid he's being.

They had a future together once. Now, all she can see is the skull and serpent that marks his forearm. He's made a terrible choice, no doubt following Rodolphus without a second thought.

"Andi?"

"You're a _Death Eater_," she hisses.

"Yeah. Just like your sister."

Andromeda bristles at the reminder. Bellatrix had been a hopeless cause. Of course she would join the Dark Lord. No one could talk her out of it.

But Rabastan is nothing like Bellatrix. He is good and kind, and he could have taken any other road.

"You thought I could just stand by and watch you do this?" she asks, hurt saturating each word. "You don't know me at all, do you?"

Rabastan recoils as though she's physically struck him. His smile fades, and he looks so much like a lost puppy that Andromeda almost reconsiders.

But she can't. This isn't some minor difference like discovering he has to have the bedroom door open when he sleeps. She isn't bound to marry him the way her parents had been; though their union had been in the works since they were thirteen, she's always had a choice. Until now, however, she could never see a future with anyone else but him.

Now, that's all falling apart around them. She could forgive him for anything else, but not this. Andromeda is nothing like her family. She no longer sees Muggleborns as dangerous, inferior creatures. How could she ever marry someone who does?

"I thought love would be enough," Rabastan tells her.

She smiles sadly and reaches out, gently caressing his cheek. "I'm sorry, Rabastan. I do love you, but I could never turn a blind eye to this."

As she walks away, her heart feels as though it's being ripped to shreds. She had wanted so badly for it to work out and to have her perfect life with him.

The Dark Lord has taken her sister from her, and now Rabastan. Andromeda silently vows to make an impact somehow.


	71. Loyal (Bellatrix)

_Word Count: 457_

* * *

She sits, and she can hear the wailing throughout the prison. Truth be told, Bellatrix wants to lend her voice to the chorus of screams that pierce the air. She wants to throw herself against the wall and moan about the cruelty and unfairness of the world.

But no. No, she is not like the others. She will never allow herself to be broken down the way they have.

The air grows colder, and the chill cuts into her bones. Bellatrix does not run away. There's a pounding in her head, and she thinks she can hear Andromeda and Narcissa. Still, she fights through it and grabs the bars of her cell.

The Dementor glides along. Bellatrix watches, mesmerized as its dark cloak-like body shifts this way and that.

She will not let it overpower her. Not this time. She will not be weak because she knows that she is so much stronger and can overcome this.

It turns its head to face her. For a moment, she feels her strength ebb from her body.

_No, _she tells herself. _No. I am better than this. _

"Hello, beauty," she tells it. "We aren't so different, are we? Dark and damned." She smiles at that, as though there's something funny about it. "I'm not afraid of you."

How could she be? She has already lived through the worst moment of her life. Her master is nowhere to be found, and Bellatrix is here, alone. What is there to fear anymore? Nothing.

But she has her own shield. Maybe she is too wretched to be able to cast a Patronus, but that's okay. There's a warmth that floods her body, even as the Dementor draws closer. Her blood should feel like ice by now, but she feels fine.

She is in this cell, and the rest of the world wishes to see her waste away and rot here. Maybe she will; maybe they will take comfort in that knowledge.

But she is here because she fought for her master. Her loyalty can never be called into question. When her master returns (and there is no doubt in her mind that the Dark Lord will come back, and all will be right in the world) it doesn't matter if she will be alive to see it. He will rise and know that Bellatrix was his most faithful, that she had happily suffered for him.

Nothing can ever take away that comfort.

She smiles at the Dementor before backing away from the bars once again and slumping against the wall.

She is the Dark Lord's loyal subject. If she dies, at least she dies with that knowledge.

As the the screams continue all around her, she throws her head back and laughs.


	72. Tea Talk (Percy and Charlie)

_Word Count: 1065_

* * *

Percy freezes whenever he steps inside his home. It's dark, as it should be, but he has a feeling that he isn't alone. Somewhere in the shadows, he can feel eyes upon him.

Waving his wand, he quickly lights the room, and it takes every ounce of control not to scream when he sees someone at the table. After a moment of standing there with his heart hammering painfully in his chest, he realizes that it isn't an intruder. At least it isn't one who means him harm.

Charlie, who should still be in Romania doing whatever the hell it is that he does to dragons, sits in his kitchen, hands neatly folded and resting on the table. He offers Percy a grin. "Sorry, Perce. I would have put the kettle on, but I didn't want to plunder through your things."

Percy feels heat rise in cheeks. He stares at his older brother, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. For several seconds, he can't even speak. It takes a moment before he finds his voice.

"Oh, no, you won't plunder. You'll just break into my bloody flat!"

Charlie doesn't even try to look contrite. He shrugs and leans back in his chair, offering Charlie a grin. "You didn't even lock your door, Perce. What sort of madman doesn't lock up?"

Percy doesn't bother to answer. Irritated, he waves his wand, and the kitchen springs to life. Maybe he doesn't like to think about his parents, but his mother's lessons on domestic magic have stuck with him. In an instant, the kettle is on and cups arrange themselves by the stove. Another flick, and his cinnamon biscuits pile onto a tray. He doesn't want Charlie here, but he can at least be a gracious host.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Did you know Bill got married?" Charlie asks.

Percy squirms. Of course he knew. He had received the invasion, and he had actually considered going. He won't tell Charlie that.

"Best wishes to the happy couple," he mutters.

"It was a gorgeous wedding. Amazing food. Good wine." Charlie smiles wistfully. "Bill looked so happy. Sap that you are, you probably would have cried. Well, it was beautiful until the Ministry raided it."

Percy bites the inside of his cheek. He had heard talk of the raid at work. No one really bothered to whisper around him. Everyone seemed to praise him for being so unlike the rest of his family.

"I… I had nothing to do with that," Percy whispers, his mouth suddenly dry.

"I know. But the place you work _did._"

"Dad works there too." _Dad. _How long has it been since he's referred to the man as that. Guilt sours his stomach.

The kettle whistles, and Percy busies himself with preparing the tea. It's been years since they have sat together like this, but he still remembers that Charlie likes two sugars and no milk. It's funny how the little things stick with him.

"Dad doesn't work directly with the Minister. You do." Charlie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like he needs to calm himself down. Next to Ron and Ginny, Charlie has always been the most fiery. Maybe he's mellowing out now that he's older. "You know they're targeting our family."

"Then perhaps you should follow the law."

"The law?" Charlie snaps, rising to his feet so suddenly that he nearly knocks the chair over in his haste. "Have you paid any attention to the law, Perce?"

"I'm well aware that it is unpleasant…" Percy swallows dryly and looks away.

He isn't blind. He knows exactly how bad things are. The doubts have been there, always in the back of his mind. Now that he has become completely disillusioned, it is too late.

"You remember Tonks, don't you?" Charlie asks. "Her father is a Muggleborn, and this is hurting her so much. You used to fancy her."

Percy squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. He wishes he could block it all out and pretend that everything is okay. It isn't his fault. He wasn't the one who made this happen!

But he did sit back and keep his head down. Why should he act? Hasn't he spent years trying to wash his hands of his family? What right does he have to worry about them now?

"It kills you," Charlie says, his tone softer as his eyes widen with understanding. "You know how bad it is, and you think you can't do anything about it."

Percy forces his attention back to the platter. The tea has grown cold, but he doesn't care. He serves it anyway.

"It's not that I think I can't do anything," Percy says as he takes a seat. Charlie sits down again, seemingly much calmer now. "I know I can't."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Is it?" Percy counters, defeat saturating each syllable.

"Yes. Go home," Charlie says simply before sipping his tea.

Percy shakes his head. He knows how unconditional his parents' love is. They would gladly welcome him with open arms. Maybe his siblings would give him hell for a while, but they would forgive him, and the hostility would fade into teasing.

But he can't. It isn't even about them anymore. He has tried to ignore the shame and guilt that have been building, but he can't anymore. The weight is there, and there's no escaping it. All the forgiveness in the world could never wash away the things he feels. He turned his back on his family, and he has no right to run back to them now.

"I think you should leave," Percy says softly.

"Perce, Mum and Dad worry about you," Charlie insists.

"Leave," Percy says, more firmly now.

"Perce…"

But Percy doesn't want to hear it. Maybe he needs to know that he is still loved, but he doesn't deserve it. He has done nothing to earn their love, and he will not accept it now.

Percy climbs to his feet. "Take the cup if you want to finish it," he says. "I want you gone by the time I start dinner."

He doesn't stick around to see if Charlie listens. Heart heavy, he heads to his bedroom and closes the door behind him. Tears sting his eyes, and only there in the privacy of his room, does he allow himself to cry.


	73. I Am Friend (Isolt Sayre)

_Geology, task 8: Write about a snake or other serpent _

_Word Count: 707_

* * *

"What a funny little snake."

Isolt looks up, head tilting to the side. It's hardly the first time she's ever heard that soft, hissing language, so she isn't startled. She simply wants to find the speaker.

"Hello?" she calls back, narrowing her dark eyes as she looks over the grass. "I can't see you."

The words come so naturally. She still remembers the first time she had ever heard her mother speak the snake language. Isolt had assumed it would be difficult to master. Instead, it's as easy as the English she's been taught, and far easier than the Gaelic her father insists that she must learn before she starts Hogwarts.

"Where are your scales?" the unseen snake asks, amusement clear in its tone. "And why have you got all those funny limbs? Snakes aren't supposed to have limbs."

Isolt folds her arms over her chest, shifting her gaze upward, trying to track the sound. "I'm not a snake," she says. "I'm a little girl."

She barely notices the movement overhead. An instant later, a green snake drops from above, its tail wrapped tightly around the branch and holding it in place. "Little?" it echoes, twisting its body around and lifting its head so that it is face-to-face with Isolt. "Have you seen yourself, girl? You're practically a giant!"

Isolt considers this for a moment. "I've never seen a giant before," she muses, taking her fingers through her mess of dark hair. "I'm almost certain that they are much bigger than I am."

"Well, how would you know?" the snake asks, flicking its tongue out. "Perhaps you _are _a giant."

"Perhaps." Isolt shrugs and makes her way to the trunk of the tree. She sits down, digging her bare feet in the dirt, sighing. "I don't think I am, though. Father says the giants live in colonies somewhere in the mountains. Do you see any mountains?"

The snake shifts its long, flexible body this way and that. "I suppose not," it concedes.

Isolt watches as the snake eases toward the ground, slowly unwrapping its tail. It drops to the grass with a soft _thump_ before slithering closer. It keeps a safe distance, like maybe it doesn't really believe that Isolt isn't really a giant.

"Most humans run when they see me," the snake tells her. "If you are a human, you are, indeed, truly a strange one."

Isolt frowns at that. Snakes are grossly misunderstood creatures. Her mother says it's because of a Muggle story about a serpent in a garden who tells a woman to eat an apple. Isolt thinks that's a silly reason to call snakes evil. Apples are delicious!

"Why should I be afraid of a snake?" Isolt muses, plucking a blade of grass from the ground. "You have done nothing to harm me. Even the venomous ones don't strike for fun, only to the protest themselves. Do you have a name?"

"A _nam_e? What a human thing to ask!"

"So you admit that I am human?" Isolt asks, grinning broadly at her victory.

If snakes could scowl, she thinks this one might. "I do not have a name," it says.

"May I give you one?"

It seems strange to ask someone if she can name them. Still, Isolt doesn't want to be rude. Maybe the snake is perfectly happy to be nameless.

The snake wraps around itself, forming a green coil that blends in well with surrounding grass. If not for black eyes peering out at her, Isolt might have lost it.

"If you'd like," the snake answers.

"Are you a boy or girl?"

It makes an amused sound, and Isolt wonders if snakes can laugh. "I am a snake."

"Clearly." Isolt purses her lips. "May I simply call you _Friend_?"

The snake's head lifts, poking out between the blades of grass. "I like _Friend_," Friend decides.

"Then it's settled. I am Isolt, and you are Friend."

Isolt leans back, resting against the trunk of the tree with her eyes closed. She hears a soft rustle in the grass. A moment later, cool, scaly skin brushes over her exposed ankle.

"I am Friend," Friend says, resting its head on her foot.


	74. Names (AliceBellatrix, AliceFrank)

_Word Count: 2192_

_Warning: brief torture_

* * *

i.

Alice knows what the marks mean, of course. Everyone knows that when anyone turns eleven, a name appears on each wrist. One is the person they're meant to fall in love with; the other is the person destined to hurt them the most. It's always up to them to figure out who is who.

But as midnight strikes on her eleventh birthday, she gasps, confused. Surely there must be some mistake. Perhaps her skin is somehow broken, and she is defected.

But no. That's just wishful thinking, and she knows it. The universe does exactly what it is meant to. There are no mistakes in the grand scheme of things.

On her left wrist, the name _Bellatrix _is written. On her right, it's the same name.

Alice swallows dryly. All she knows is that she cannot possibly allow herself to fall in love.

…

"Black, Bellatrix."

Alice feels her heart beat a little faster. _Bellatrix. _Just the name makes her shiver, and she doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

The girl is lovely with her mess of dark curls and hooded eyes. There's an air about her, and even as she sits on the stool, she reminds Alice more of a queen looking down from her throne.

The Sorting Hat drops over her head. Barely a second passes before it declares, "SLYTHERIN!"

The boy beside Alice scoffs. "Not surprising," he says. "The whole family is full of Slytherins."

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing," Alice says sharply. "I hear Professor Slughorn is a good man, and _he's _a Slytherin."

The boy just grins. "Ah, yes. I suppose that's true." He blushes and scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. "Truth be told, I just wanted to break the ice. I'm Frank. And you are?"

"Fortescue, Alice!"

She laughs. "That's me," she says before making her way up to the stool.

Professor McGonagall places the Sorting Hat on her head. "GRYFFINDOR!"

It's a surprise. Her family tends to be Hufflepuffs, though there has been the odd Slytherin thrown into the mix.

Alice hops down from the stool, smiling nervously. As she makes her way to her House table, she catches a glimpse of the Slytherins. Bellatrix Black sits, chin resting on her knuckles, studying Alice curiously.

…

It takes only a week before Bellatrix corners her in the library. "Let me see your wrists," she demands.

Alice swallows dryly. She doesn't know how to use defensive magic. Besides, she thinks Madam Pince might actually murder her for even the slightest disruption. "No," she snaps. "Go away!"

"You're her, aren't you?" Bellatrix's expression softens, somewhere between confusion and shock.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Alice pushes past her, taking advantage of Bellatrix's hesitation. Bellatrix doesn't retaliate; she doesn't even bother to follow Alice.

…

"Why won't you show me your names?"

Alice doesn't bother to turn. She already knows that Bellatrix will be there, just as confused as she has been for the past two months.

She keeps her head down and manages to slip into the crowd, losing herself in the sea of people.

…

"I was hoping you were named Alice, you know," Frank tells her. "That first day at the Sorting ceremony? I just _knew._"

It's nearly winter break, and he catches up to her, smiling as cheerfully as he always does.

"And why is that?"

He lifts the left sleeve of his jumper, revealing Alice's name. Her head swims, and she wonders if the universe is truly broken. Is it really possible that she is destined to love Bellatrix, but Frank is destined to love her? It seems like some cruel joke.

"How do you know I'm not the one who's going to hurt you?" she asks.

His grin only broadens as he lifts the right sleeve. _Bartemius. _"I don't fancy blokes."

Merlin, does he have to look so hopeful? It makes Alice's heart break.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, "but your name isn't on me. Alice isn't a terribly uncommon name."

She walks away, biting the inside of her cheek. It isn't fair, but she has no choice but to believe that universe knows what it's doing. Frank will meet another girl named Alice, and she will have his name on one of her wrists.

…

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Bellatrix says.

It's a spring day, and Alice had hoped to pick some flowers near the lake, undisturbed. Instead, Bellatrix has found her once again. Alice supposes she shouldn't be surprised anymore. Bellatrix refuses to give up. It's almost cute.

Alice folds her arm over her chest. "Guessing you have my name," she says. "Maybe I'm the one who hurts you."

"Oh, you are." Bellatrix lifts her right sleeve. _Alice_. "But that's not all." Her left sleeve rises, revealing Alice's name a second time. "I need to know if it's you."

Alice feels the color drain from her face. Ordinarily, she could convince herself it's a coincidence. As with Frank, it could be any other Alice.

But Bellatrix isn't like Frank.

Reluctantly, Alice lifts her sleeves.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Bellatrix whispers, grinning.

"That we need to stay as far away from each other as possible."

"No," Bellatrix says as she steps closer, her fingertips grazing Alice's cheek.

Alice closes her eyes. They're destined to hurt one another. She shouldn't get too close, even if the universe has decided that they're soulmates.

Except she can't bring herself to walk away this time. It's out there now, the answer to the great mystery that has plagued her for nearly a year.

"Okay," she says.

ii.

Things are good. Alice begins to wonder if maybe Bellatrix's repeated name is a mistake.

How can Bellatrix hurt her when they love each other so purely? It's the new great mystery, but three years pass, and she thinks that maybe it doesn't matter if she solves it or not.

…

"You've been spending a lot of time with Bellatrix Black." Frank sits across from her, frowning. "Look, I don't want to tell you how to live your life…"

"Then don't," Alice says simply.

"She's dangerous. You have to know that," Frank insists. "You've heard about her family. I'm sure you have."

"Who I spend time with is none of your concern."

With that, Alice grabs her books. She doesn't want to be hard on him. Frank thinks he's in love because he hasn't met the right Alice yet. It isn't her; it can't be her. She just doesn't know how to convince him of it.

…

She sits atop the Astronomy Tower, head resting on Bellatrix's shoulder. "Frank says you're dangerous."

Bellatrix laughs. "And what do you think?:

"I think you're beautiful."

Another laugh. It's almost enough to make Alice melt. "Why can't I be both."

Alice doesn't have an answer for that, so she settles for a kiss.

…

She ponders the name on both of her wrists. What does it mean? Why is she so certain that something bad will happen if she lets her guard down for too long?

Her finger brushes over the word.

_Bellatrix._

There has to be some mistake. Maybe just this once the universe is wrong.

Except she can't fight the feeling that it's all going to fall apart one day.

…

"What's wrong?" Bellatrix asks as they sit by the lake together.

Alice leans back, resting on her elbows, watching the clouds drift by. "When I was little, I liked sitting such my grandfather," she says. "We would look for shapes in the clouds."

"You're avoiding my question."

Alice shakes her head. And isn't, really. She just doesn't know to give voice to the things she feels.

"Do you ever think about the names?" she asks.

"All the time." Bellatrix instinctively touches the writing on her wrist. "Why?"

"So do I."

Alice sits up again and plucks a stone from the ground before tossing it. It skips twice on the surface of the dark water before sinking.

Bellatrix laughs. "Let me show you how it's done."

iii.

When they are sixteen, Alice notices a new mark. She isn't supposed to see it, but Bellatrix pulls up her sleeve a little too far. The sight of the skull and serpent chills her.

This is it. This is how Bellatrix will hurt her.

"What have you done?" Alice asks.

Bellatrix doesn't answer. Heated color stains her pale face as she jerks the sleeve down once again.

"Bella, we can fix this."

"There's nothing to fix," Bellatrix says, her voice colder than Alice has ever heard it. "You can join me."

"I can't."

"You can!"

And Alice thinks that she should have done this five years ago. Heart shattering within her chest, she turns her back on the girl she loves and walks away.

…

She cries for a week straight. At least it feels like a week of tears and nothing else. She finds herself falling behind in class because she can't even focus.

And this is it. This is the punchline the universe couldn't wait to deliver. She had been foolish to believe she could outsmart destiny somehow.

…

"Chocolate Frog?" Frank sits beside her in the common room. "Or are you more of a Jelly Slug type?"

Alice keeps her gaze upon the embers glowing in the fireplace. "Why are you so nice to me? I'm not your Alice."

"I beg to differ," Frank says. "Did you know I've met four other Alices? None of them made me feel the way you do. The universe is never wrong."

It isn't. She wishes it could be. Maybe then this wouldn't hurt so bad.

Frank holds up a Honeydukes bag, smiling. "I also have Ice Mice and Pepper Imps," he offers.

"Got any Sugar Quills?"

His smile brightens. She supposes he is rather handsome, and he has always been so kind to her.

Maybe it is her name on his wrist. Maybe she can love him and be the person he needs.

"You're in luck," he says, plucking a Sugar Quill from the bag. "I like to keep one on hand so I nibble it in class. It's yours if you want it."

iv.

Frank, as it turns out, is easy to love. He is good and kind, and he has so much warmth and love in his heart.

She wishes she could say that's enough, that her mind doesn't return to Bellatrix. It does. Day after day, she says that name upon her skin, reminding her that this isn't the grand plan.

…

"Longbottom, huh?"

Alice doesn't look up. A lump forms in her throat, and she is afraid that she might cry if she tries to speak.

"He doesn't love you the way I do, Alice."

_Love. _Why does it have to be present tense? Why does Alice have to feel it too?

"He never will."

She scratches her quill across the parchment. It only hurts this much because she still loves Bellatrix. For once, she wishes she didn't have such a big heart.

"It doesn't have to be like this."

Alice exhales heavily and climbs to her feet, dropping her school things into her bag. "I'm sorry, Bella," she whispers, and her words sound so thin that she's afraid they may crack and betray her, "but it really does."

v.

It is a beautiful life. Frank makes a wonderful husband, and they have a precious boy together. Alice is happy, because who wouldn't be happy with such perfection?

It still feels wrong, like maybe this isn't what her life is meant to be. She wonders if Frank feels it too, if he's starting to realize that maybe he should have waited for another Alice.

But their days are filled with smiles and laughter, and she can't imagine a different life at all.

…

They've just put Neville to bed and are about to break open a bottle of wine when it happens. She sees Rodolphus Lestrange first. The second she raises her wand, he disarms her, then Frank, grinning wickedly as he leaves them helpless. "Uh-uh," he says, wagging his finger at her like he's scolding a naughty child.

"Where is he?" Barty Crouch Jr steps forward, and Alice feels her stomach tighten into painful knots. "Where is the Dark Lord?"

_Bartemius. _The name on his wrist. This is the first time they've ever met in person, and Alice just knows that it will not end well.

"Please!" she cries. "Please don't hurt him!"

"_Don't hurt him!_" comes a shrill, mocking voice. Bellatrix steps out from behind the younger Lestrange brother, grinning like a maniac. "Oh, dear. Does ickle Alice love him? Oh, you must. Look at the way you cry for him."

"_Crucio!_" Barty screams.

Alice watches, frozen in horror as she watches her husband drop to the floor, writhing in pain.

"_Crucio!_"

She falls to her knees, looking up at Bellatrix. "Please! Please, Bella!"

"_Please, Bella!_" Bellatrix taunts, smirking. "Why should I? You were supposed to be _mine_!"

"You made your choice," Alice insists.

"And so did you." Bellatrix raises her wand. "_Crucio_!"


	75. Like a Lifetime (ParvatiLavender)

_For Ballroom Dancing, task 1: Write about a couple's anniversary_

_Warning: mentions of character death and wartime injuries _

_Word Count: 585_

* * *

Parvati chooses her outfit especially for Lavender. It's Lavender's favorite dress, a pastel yellow one that stops just shy of her knees. Parvati had always felt self-conscious in it; she becomes so painfully aware of how skinny her legs are, but Lavender always kisses away her insecurities and calls her beautiful. She normally wouldn't bother with it, but three years have passed since Lavender became more than just her best friend. It has to be special. It has to be everything that Lavender would love.

From the way she styles her hair and the nude shade of lipstick that Parvati has always thought was a little too plain, to the strappy white sandals, everything is for Lavender. She knows that her girlfriend would love her in anything, but it doesn't matter. Today has to be perfect because it's what Lavender deserves.

Once she is satisfied that she looks good, she makes her way to the kitchen. The picnic basket rests on the table, open and already packed with all of Lavender's favorite treats. All that's left is the wine.

Parvati has always been of the opinion that white wine is best. There's nothing quite like a glass of crisp chardonnay after a long day. Lavender, on the other hand, prefers sweet red wine. The pink moscato she places in the basket is a compromise Aberforth had helped them discover while hiding in the Room of Requirement during the war.

Parvati closes her eyes at the thought of the war. It's been four months. Four months since the final battle. Four months since Greyback turned their world upside down. Four months since she knelt in a pool of Lavender's blood, doing everything she could to stop the bleeding.

She swallows dryly. She doesn't want to think about that. Today isn't about pain and destruction. Today is their anniversary, and she intends to celebrate.

She grabs the bouquet of red roses, then the basket, and she is ready.

…

Parvati spreads the gingham blanket out, smoothing the creases. She's never been able to get it to lay quite flat, but it doesn't matter. She is here with Lavender, and that's all she cares about.

"Happy anniversary, baby," she says, pouring herself a glass of wine and breathing in the sweet, fruity aroma. "Looks like we aren't the only ones Abe turned on to moscato. Do you know how hard it was to find this bottle?"

She pulls out the bags of grapes and different cheeses. "I know, I'm probably being silly, but… I just wanted today to be perfect, you know? It's nothing fancy, but it's very… you." She smiles, adding the chocolate-covered strawberries to the picnic spread.

Three years, but it feels like a lifetime. Sometimes Parvati wonders if there's something to her father's belief in reincarnation. Maybe she and Lavender have met in a thousand lives before, and they'll continue to meet after this one. The thought of it makes her smile sadly as she nibbles a cube of gouda.

"I love you. I miss you." She squeezes her eyes closed and takes a deep breath. She will not cry, not today. "I miss _us_. Oh! Right. I brought you flowers. Your favorites."

A dozen red roses. Parvati thinks they're overrated, but Lavender loves them, so who is she to argue?

She places the bouquet on the ground in front of Lavender's gravestone, choking back the sobs that threaten to tear through her chest.

Maybe she should have brought something stronger than wine.


	76. Not Like Them (Piers)

_Games and Sports, task 5: Write about a physical fight_

_Word Count: 1195_

_Warnings: homophobia, violence, hate crimes_

* * *

"But did you see Mr. Grisham?" Dudley asks, nearly falling over with laughter. "Mate, what was wrong with his moustache? D'ya reckon he shaved in the dark this morning?"

And Piers laughs along because it's what he's supposed to do. He has been Dudley's sidekick for almost his whole life. Laughing and following his lead has become second nature to him. It doesn't matter that he doesn't particularly care about Mr. Grisham's unfortunate shave and trim. It's what he does because he doesn't want to disappoint Dudley.

"Was that his moustache?" Piers laughs, making a face to show his disgust about something he hadn't even noticed. "I thought he had a fuzzy caterpillar under his nose."

It isn't the best comeback, and it's more childish than he wants it to be, but it's all he can manage.

They round the corner onto Magnolia Crescent when they hear the all-too-familiar sound of knuckles striking against flesh. Up ahead, he can see familiar black curls, and his heart sinks. A boy, older than Piers but probably not even eighteen yet, holds Max's arms behind his back, preventing him from moving. A second boy laughs as he slams his knuckles against Max's face. Even from this distance, Piers can see the spray of blood as his cousin's lip splits.

"Fucking queer!" the one throwing the punches says with a sneer. "No one wants you here!"

"Yeah! Fairies are for Ireland, not England, ya poof!" the second boy laughs.

There's something unspoken between Piers and Dudley. Neither discusses a plan, but they both know what to do. They drop their books and bags to the ground and charge forward. Piers' long legs make him faster, but Dudley's not far behind him.

Max's assailants don't seem to expect anyone to come to their victim's defense. Most days, no one would. If this had happened even an hour earlier, Max might have been beaten to death before Piers got home.

Piers shakes his head, the thought causing his blood to boil with anger. But there's something else too, some heaviness that sinks into his stomach; he swallows it down and pushes it away because he can't let his emotions get the best of him. Not now, not with Max bleeding and bruised on the pavement in front of their home.

Dudley cries out as they approach. It's enough to catch them off guard. The one holding Max lets him go, throwing his arms up, ready to fight. Normally, Piers would take him on, but he doesn't care about fighting today. Max is lying on the ground in a pitiful heap, barely able to even lift his head; he is Piers' priority.

He drops quickly, he jeans tearing against the pavement. Seconds later, Dudley tackles the one who had done the punching. A scuffle ensues, but Piers doesn't pay it any mind. He's vaguely aware of retreating footsteps, and a quick glance over his shoulder tells him that the one who had held Max down has taken off. _Coward_, Piers thinks.

The idiots wouldn't have dared to lay a finger on Max if they had known they would be interrupted. They're pathetic, spineless, miserable little shits, and Piers would love to wring their necks. He just takes comfort in the sounds of Dudley pounding his fists against his opponent's face. It isn't justice, but it will have to do.

"Come on," Piers says, carefully wrapping an arm around his cousin-turned-guardian and guiding him to his feet. "There we go. Bend your knee just a bit."

Once he knows Max can move, he escorts him into the yard. "C'mon, D," he calls. "Leave him."

He doesn't look back to see if Dudley listens to him. If his friend decides to spend a few extra seconds teaching the wannabe thug a lesson, Piers isn't going to argue.

…

Max's face is marbled with bruises, sickening shades of blue and purple juxtaposed against his pale skin and swallowing his freckles. His bottom lip is split, and there are specks of dried blood around his chin.

Dudley's knuckles are swollen and bruised, but he doesn't seem to notice until Piers brings him an ice pack. "If I ever see those two again…" Dudley trails off, shaking his head. Piers doesn't want to imagine what he'll do.

"Did you know them?" Piers asks, sitting across from his cousin. "What did they want?"

Max gives him a look that's almost amused. "I'm gay, Piers," he says. "They wanted me to stop being gay."

"Well, that's stupid," Dudley says with a roll of his eyes. "Why do they care?"

"Because some people can't handle others being different," Max answers, sighing heavily. "They try to beat away the otherness."

And there it is again. There's the heaviness in his stomach, the unnamed emotion that had been buried beneath his anger. It's painfully familiar.

_Guilt. _

Isn't he just as bad as those blokes? Hasn't he held people down so that Dudley and the others could beat them up? Christ, how many times had he participated in Harry hunting when they were younger?

He climbs to his feet, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket. Max gives him a disapproving look, but he doesn't tell him no. "I need some fresh air."

"Smoking defeats the purpose of fresh air," Max says dryly.

…

He's halfway done with his cigarette when Dudley joins him at the side of the house. "You look like something's bothering you, mate," Dudley says, brows raising curiously. "Everything okay?"

"Those blokes who jumped Max… They were bastards," Piers says, exhaling smoke and passing the cigarette to Dudley.

"Absolute assholes," Dudley agrees before fitting the cigarette between his lips and taking a drag.

"We aren't good people either," Piers says, his voice barely above a whisper. "We've hurt people like that before."

Dudley looks like he wants to argue. He's quiet for several moments, steadily puffing away until the filter burns. "We're not like them," he says, dropping the remains of the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his trainer. "You know we aren't."

Dudley doesn't sound so certain, and Piers doesn't blame him. No one wants to be the bad guy, but maybe they are sometimes. Maybe they're the villains in someone else's story.

"We should go back in," Piers says, pushing himself forward off the wall. "Gotta keep an eye on Max."

Piers doesn't know what to do with this revelation. He doesn't want to think that he is like those people, that he would ever hurt someone the way Max has been hurt. The things he's done have just been childish things, just fooling around and doing whatever his friends do.

But maybe those blokes started the same way. Maybe they never learned to leave the hatred behind and become better people. What would things have been like if they had?

He knows he needs to let go. Cruelty hasn't felt right to him in so long. It's time to change.

As he returns to the kitchen and fetches some pain tablets for his cousin, he makes a promise to himself. One way or another, he will make sure he never becomes like them.


	77. Hexes and Ice Cream (Ron and Rose)

_Word Count: 490_

* * *

A tip from Hermione leads Ron to the garden. Rose has been out there all morning, it seems, and she hasn't come in for lunch. Hugo says Rose is going through a breakup. Ron never liked Jacob Wood much anyway.

Rose sits among a rainbow of flowers, her attention focused on the tall grass. There's a white rabbit there, watching Rose, its little pink nose twitching. Ron stands back, watching with a soft smile on his lips. The moment is so tender and sweet that he feels guilty for interrupting.

"Rosie?" He steps closer. The sound of a twig snapping under his foot sends the rabbit scurrying away. "Sorry."

Rose looks up. Her eyes are swollen and rimmed with pink. Ron can see the salty trails of dried tears that mark her cheeks.

He wants to tell her that she's fourteen and doesn't need to worry about dating at all. Still, he knows he can't stop her. Though he wishes he could hold her to a higher standard, he remembers what it's like to be young.

"I really liked Jacob," she says with a sniffle.

"I know," he says, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her, "but sometimes things just aren't meant to be."

"It isn't fair."

Ron frowns. He knows that all too well. He hadn't been particularly fair to Lavender when he had been barely older than Rose is now. Lavender had moved on, and he knows that Rose will too. It hurts though; he knows it does.

"If a boy breaks your heart, it's okay to cry," he tells her. "It's also okay to put a hex on him."

"Mum says that I'm responsible for my own behavior," Rose sighs. "Someone breaking my heart isn't enough to justify revenge."

Ron snorts and shakes his head. "Your mother attacked me with birds because I hurt her, and we weren't even dating at the time."

Rose's jaw drops. She stares at Ron, as though she's trying to decide if he's joking or not. Seeming to believe him, she shakes her head. "I have so many hexes to choose from when school starts back."

Ron affectionately ruffles his daughter's hair. "I know it gets bad," he says, "but it always gets better, okay?" He climbs to his feet and holds out his hand. "Come on. I've got a carton of ice cream waiting for you."

"Butter pecan?" she asks, accepting his hand and pulling herself up.

Ron laughs. "Of course, butter pecan," he says, wrapping an arm around her and leading her inside.

As they sit together, enjoying ice cream for lunch, Rose talks about the hexes she might use on Jacob in September. Ron is proud that she's trying to move forward, but he is definitely grateful that Hermione isn't around to hear her plotting.

Somehow, he has the feeling that she won't be too thrilled to see that the apple didn't fall from the tree.


	78. A Beautiful World (CharlieDraco)

_Word Count: 1754_

* * *

Charlie hasn't even started back to Romania when it begins. One moment, he's saying goodbye to his family and promising to return for Christmas. The next, there are lights in the sky, unlike anything they've ever seen before.

"Arthur," his mother says. "Arthur, turn on the news."

Because they all feel it. This isn't just some sort of phenomenon that can be easily explained. There is something going, something so much bigger than any of them.

Gilderoy Lockhart is on the telly, reporting the lights seen around the world. "We have reason to believe that this is some sort of publicity stunt," the blond man explains. "As of now, no one is taking credit for it, but we will keep you updated as the story progresses."

Charlie has a sinking sort of feeling in his stomach, and he thinks that maybe he should stay a little longer.

…

The beings appear after three days. The Queen is in the middle of an address when there's a sudden crash. The camera pans to a… Well, Charlie isn't sure what it is, only that it looks like a giant metal snake.

A man steps out. No. _Man_ isn't quite the right word. He is humanoid, but there is something about him that isn't quite right. Charlie can't seem to put his finger on it, but he _knows._

The being announces his people as the Riddlians from some faraway planet called Marvolo. When he smiles, his teeth are just a little too sharp, and Charlie can't help but have his doubts when the being begins to talk about peace.

His suspicions are confirmed in moments. Armed guards surround them, only to get consumed by a brilliant burst of green light.

The leader's smile turns colder, and his shark-like teeth fit this expression more. Charlie shudders, disgusted, but he cannot look away. "We had hoped to do this peacefully," he says. "The transition can be quite painless, if you let it." His dark eyes narrow, lip curling in annoyance. "As it happens, there is another option."

"What's that mean?" Ginny whispers.

Before anyone can hazard a guess, the leader continues. "This planet is ours now. The inhabitants can serve us, or you can all perish."

Charlie feels his blood turn cold. He knows exactly what this means now. "We're going to war," he says, because he knows that they are not the type to just sit idly by and let everything they love be taken away.

…

The Burrow becomes one of the headquarters for the resistance. Albus Dumbledore says that there are countless others throughout the country, and he is in constant contact with the leaders of those.

He spends his days with his younger brothers, helping to build cabins, henhouses, gardens, and the like. They don't have a choice in this. They have to survive.

…

The news stations stop reporting after a month. Maybe they would have continued, but the world watched as Gilderoy Lockhart was mercilessly dragged onto a ship. No one knows what happened to him aboard that ship, only that his pupils have gone white, and he only speaks nonsense.

After that, the stations seem to realize how dangerous this really is. No more lives are risked.

Still, they get their news. Dumbledore has connections, and those connections bring him a never ending source of information.

It doesn't look good for humanity. France is in anarchy, having fought hard against the invaders. A resource named Olympe, a tall woman who had briefly taken refuge with a group of young women at the Burrow, says the city is on fire, that the blaze is unlike anything they've experienced before.

"Let it be known that the French did not surrender," says a pretty young woman with silver-blonde hair. "We fought until we could not fight any longer."

When Olympe's group leaves, the blonde stays behind. She says she wants to improve her English, but Charlie sees the way she and Bill exchange little smiles. It isn't her desire for education that makes her stay.

…

He's in the clearing near the Burrow, collecting firewood. It's been nearly two months since they've had electricity, but they make do with what they have. It's hard work, but he doesn't mind. It reminds him of the wildlife reserve in Romania; he has to get his hands dirty and break a sweat, or else it's all for nothing.

Charlie chops a fallen branch, dividing it into smaller, easier pieces that will fit in his bag. He doesn't know how he notices it at all, but the faintest hint of movement in the tall grass catches his attention. Charlie grips his hatchet and moves closer, ready to defend himself if necessary.

At first glance, the figure looks like a young man, maybe Ron's age. Then he sees it, really _sees._ The man's skin is just a little too pale, like the others who have become known as Death Eaters.

Still raising the hatchet, prepared to swing, Charlie kneels and pulls the man's bottom lip downward. Sure enough, he sees a row of razor-sharp teeth. The creature hisses and jumps to his feet, crouching defensively. He doesn't attack. Charlie waits, but it never happens.

"I'm not like them," the creature says, shaking his head. "Please…"

Charlie knows he should kill him. That's what they're supposed to do. This is war, and second guessing can get him killed.

He can't do it. He can't bring himself to land the killing blow. "I'm Charlie," he says.

"Draco," the other answers. "Have you any food?"

Charlie slides his bag from his shoulders and reaches in. He tosses a bit of bread and some dried fruit out. Draco eats it so quickly that Charlie barely even sees him move.

"Thank you."

…

Charlie knows that it's a dangerous secret to keep. The Death Eaters want them dead. Keeping one of them so close to the base…

"Germany has fallen," Remus Lupin reports, his expression grim. "It's estimated that seventy percent of the population perished. The other thirty have been enslaved."

Dumbledore looks troubled as he makes adjustments to the board. France, Germany, Croatia, Argentina, Mexico, Jamaica, and so many more are gone now. Even more are constant war zones.

And Charlie has one of their enemies outside. He'd rigged up a makeshift shelter for Draco, and the alien hadn't seemed in any hurry to leave it. Charlie has the feeling Draco wants to get away from the Death Eaters as much as the others do.

…

Draco talks to him. He is hesitant at first, and Charlie feels the same. But they speak, and maybe they understand one another.

Draco's planet is dead, its resources stripped away. That's what the Death Eaters do. They take and take, and they leave nothing but destruction in their wake.

"I like your planet," Draco says. "It is very green." As if to emphasize this, he plucks a blade of grass from the ground. "I don't want to see it destroyed."

"So you ran," Charlie says.

The alien nods, smiling nervously. "They will kill me if they find me," he explains.

"Looks like we're in the same boat."

Draco looks around, pale eyes blinking slowly, clearly confused. "This is land," he says. "Not water. Where is your boat?"

Charlie chuckles and shakes his head. "It's just an expression."

"Do your people like expressions?"

Charlie considers for a moment. He's never really thought much about it. "I suppose we do," he answers, shrugging.

"Can you teach me?" Draco asks. "Can you teach me to be human?"

…

Charlie brings books after that. Draco tears through them, so entranced by the written word. He learns fast, and Charlie has to admit that he's impressed. He would have killed to have that sort of memory retention in school.

…

"There has to be a way to defeat them," Albus says.

Charlie's mind races. Maybe there is. Maybe they have a weapon. Maybe…

He forces the thoughts from his head, carefully slipping a bit of chicken into his jacket pocket. He will have to talk to Draco.

…

Draco kisses him, and Charlie pulls away, eyes wide with confusion. Draco's pale cheeks flush a deep red.

"Is that not what I was supposed to do?" Draco asks, gesturing toward a book. It's some silly romance novel, and he doesn't know how it's gotten mixed in with everything else.

"Only if you fancy someone," Charlie answers. "You don't just kiss your friends on the lips like that."

"But I do." Draco moves closer. "Judging by that book, I do fancy you."

Charlie would be lying if he said he didn't notice that Draco is attractive. He had seen it that first day in the clearing. In the weeks that have followed, he's gotten to know Draco more. Deep down, he hadn't minded that kiss at all. Deep down, there's some faint, flickering part of him that has considered making a move too.

Charlie grips his wrist and pulls him close. Their lips meet again, and Charlie feels a surge of excitement through his body. There is no doubt in his mind that he has fallen.

"Can you help us?" Charlie asks as he pulls away.

Draco sighs heavily. "I am not a warrior," he says. "It is why I ran from my people."

"You don't have to fight," Charlie assures him. "But you know them better than any of us. If you helped us, we could have a chance. This planet could live, and we could…" He swallows. "We could enjoy it together."

…

There are names and insults thrown around when Charlie brings Draco home. He thinks the only reason no one manages to harm Draco is because Charlie stands in front of them, silently making it known that they will have to go through him first.

"He wants to help us," Charlie says. "I need you all to sit down and have an open mind."

He thinks they might actually turn on him, but Dumbledore speaks before anyone has the chance. "We know Charlie," he says, "and we know he would never do anything to bring us harm. I trust his judgment."

Charlie gets the feeling that not many others trust his judgment, but no one ever dares to contradict Dumbledore. The old man has earned a strange level of respect from the others.

Draco steps forward, his hand sliding into Charlie's. "I am Draco, of the Malfoy clan from the planet Marvolo," he says, "and I am your only hope."


	79. Feathered Love (LuciusPeacock)

_Word Count: 355_

_Warning: I mean… It's one-sided LuciusPeacock. That should be enough warning?_

* * *

They're fighting again. It seems like they're always fighting these days. Lucius tries so desperately to remember a time when there was peace in their home.

"I do love you," Lucius says, cutting across Naricssa before it can get too bad. "I just… need space."

She doesn't like that. As he walks away, he hears her scream and cry, and from the nursery, Draco's wails join the cacophony of noise. Lucius covers his ears and keeps walking. He never should have gotten married. This whole domestic life and being a husband and father is too much.

He grabs a loaf of bread from the kitchen and keeps walking. He knows exactly what he needs and who he needs to see.

…

Virgip is beautiful. Her white feathers look radiant in the sunlight, and Lucius smiles.

"Hello, beautiful," he says.

Narcissa doesn't like him. She says Virgil is aloof, but that isn't quite true. Virgil needs to be loved a certain way, and only Lucius has figured that way out.

"I brought you a treat," he says, crumbling the bread onto the ground.

The peacock makes a happy noise, his feather extending. He really is beautiful; Lucius can't seem to look away.

He reaches out, touching those feathers. It's perfect. Clear skies, warm sunshine, and beautiful serenity, if only for such a fleeting moment.

…

"You love that peacock more than you love me," Narcissa says, acidic accusation dripping from each syllable.

"Don't be silly, darling," he says.

But she's right, isn't she? He doesn't look at Virgil the way he looks at Narcissa. There is no sexual desire there. No, his love for Virgil is more pure. It is a true love, one that Narcissa could never understand.

"I think we should get rid of him," Narcissa says. "He is far too aggressive, and Draco will be walking soon."

"Then keep an eye on Draco," Lucius snaps. "Virgil stays."

…

Virgil struts across the lawn, basking in the sunshine. Lucius watches from the shade of a willow tree.

Virgil is good and graceful and loving. If only Narcissa could be more like his feathered companion.


	80. Dinner Dilemma (Bill and Victoire)

_Word Count: 416_

* * *

"Dad?" Victoire looks up from the packet of roasted almonds she's eating, a frown on her lips.

"What's up, princess?" Bill asks.

She scowls, but Bill knows it's just an act. At fourteen, Victoire insists she's too old to be his princess, but Bill has seen the way she smiles at the term of endearment whenever she thinks no one is watching.

His eldest daughter isn't smiling now, though. Bill hates seeing her look so troubled.

"We have dinner at Grandma Weasley's tomorrow," Victoire says. She rolls the packet up then unrolls it and repeats again and again; Victorie is a bundle of nervous energy tonight.

Bill nods. "I already told Mum you're vegetarian," he assures her. "She'll make sure you have plenty of meatless options."

It had been an easy enough conversation to have. His mother had thought it was a joke at first, but, once she realized Bill was serious, she had started talking about soups and pastas and other delicious things.

"Thanks… But it isn't that. You don't…" Victoire trails off, pink creeping into her cheeks and swallowing her freckles. "I know Grandma and Grandpa Weasley are okay, and you, Mum, Louis, and Dominique get it. But everyone else… What if they make fun of me for it?"

"Oh, baby girl…"

Victoire only decided two weeks ago that she wants to be vegetarian. She seems so devoted to it that everyone stopped questioning it after the first two days.

He doesn't know how her cousins will respond. In a perfect world, he could tell her that they will think it's cool. Truthfully, though, he knows that kids can be unintentionally mean.

"They may not understand," he tells her. "They may even tease you about it. Remember when Aunt Angelina got a nose ring, and Albus said it looked like a shiny bogey?"

Victoire giggles at the memory, nodding. Good. At least it's enough to relieve the tension and take away some of the stress. That's all that matters.

"Family can be a little messy sometimes, but that's okay. You're still family, and you still love one another," he says. "You just keep on being you. Stand your ground when necessary, but remember your family loves you so much, okay?"

Victoire nods, smiling. All nervousness seems to fade away. "Dad, will you try this new tofu recipe I found?"

"Absolutely not."

She rolls her eyes, but she still smiles. Everything is okay, and tomorrow's family dinner will be great. Bill just has to believe.


	81. The Real Treasure (Marauders)

_Word Count: 554_

_Muggle, thief!au_

* * *

It's supposed to be an easy job. In, out, done. Peter tells himself that this is the last time. The Marauders are not as cutthroat as other bands of thieves are, but they still aren't his friends.

He shakes his head. "Never get attached," he murmurs to himself.

Because he knows what happens when he gets close to people.

Because he knows he never gets over the pain when everything falls apart.

…

It happens in the blink of an eye. One minute, everything is fine. Peter has the cuckoo clock in his hands- a stupid thing to risk his freedom and life for, but a job's a job, and he will not complain. Then the sirens sound, and he cannot move.

He's heard before that the Riddles, a notorious family of antique collectors Dumbledore seems to particularly detest, have fascinating traps, things that are cutting edge and unheard of. It seems that he has found out that those rumors are true. Once the clock was removed, the floor beneath him changed. It almost reminds him of one of those sticky mouse pads.

He is trapped like a rat, and there is nothing he can do.

James appears, lips pursed. "Take your shoes off," he suggests.

But it isn't that simple. Peter suspects sticky substance is something else, and he finds himself struggling to move.

"Oi! You two!" James calls.

Remus and Sirius rush over, exchanging concerned glances. Peter hates himself. All he has done is solidify his role as dead weight.

"Just take the clock," Peter says. "I'll be fine."

Maybe prison won't be awful. Maybe he can keep his head down and survive.

"Nah, mate," James says. "Marauders always stick together."

Sirius removes a knife from his pocket. "Moony, keep watch," he says, and Remus salutes, narrowing his eyes and turning his attention to the hallway. "I'm gonna try to cut at an angle. Maybe it can work."

Peter closes his eyes. He doesn't understand why they're sticking around. It's too dangerous, and he isn't worth it. He isn't worth anyone's kindness. For so long, he has been loyal only to himself.

He feels the pressure and movement. Several seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity.

"Hope you weren't fond of that shoe," Sirius says, and with one final tug, Peter is free.

Peter chances a glance back. The shoe has been partially dissolved at the sole. He swallows dryly, realizing how easily he could have been hurt.

…

"You could have sabotaged the job," Peter says with a heavy sigh.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold," James says.

Remus pulls the clock from the bag, whistling as he examines it. "Right," he says. "Sometimes it's diamond."

Peter can see it down. There's a glimmer on the hands of the clock, and he realizes they're lined with diamonds. "Blimey."

"Indeed," James snorts. "But not the point. I'm trying to be sentimental, Moony! The real treasure is the friendship we've developed over the last few jobs."

Peter should be terrified. He shouldn't stick around. Attachments are bad, and he needs to keep his distance.

But maybe the Marauders are his family now. Maybe this is home to him.

He had been so sure that he wanted out only an hour ago. Now he thinks he has three good reasons to stay.


	82. Never Too Late (Argus)

_Word Count: 588_

* * *

Argus steps inside the Potions classroom. Like all the other classrooms in the castle, this place makes his chest ache. This could have been his life. He's never liked children, so life in a classroom would have been hell.

But he could have done something. He could have been something great.

His sister, Hera, is a potioneer. She does amazing things and has become well known. Just a month ago, Argus had seen his sister's arrogant smile plastered across the front page of the _Daily Prophet._

It isn't fair. Why had his letter never come? Why is it that he only gets to experience Hogwarts as an outsider? Why doesn't magic flow through his veins?

He makes his way to the ingredients cupboard, removing each vial and wiping the dust from it before polishing each shelf.

His mother kept such a tidy potion shelf. It sickens Argus to see the way Horace keeps things in such disarray. If Argus could do magic, if he had his own little potion station, he would be sure it was always maintained.

But he doesn't. He never has, and he never will, and he tries so hard not to let the bitterness overtake him as he kneels and begins to work on the bottom shelf.

_Squib. _

He still remembers the way his heart broke when he realized he would never get his Hogwarts letter. Hera had laughed and claimed to have known it all along. Of course Argus would be the disappointment of the family. Of course he would be the failure.

The door to the classroom opens, and Argus turns. Horace stands in the doorway, beaming at him.

"Argus, dear fellow!" he calls brightly, cheerfully. "Simply spiffing to see you."

Argus grunts and climbs to his feet. He doesn't want to stay any longer than he has to. He and Horace are not friends, and he would rather not bother with any chitchat.

As he starts to walk away, however, a thought occurs to him. Argus pauses in the middle of the classroom, eyes scanning over the cauldrons. He feels desire flood through him with such force that he thinks his heart might explode.

"Horace?"

"Hmm?" The professor is distracted by a box of what appears to be crystalized pineapple which he pulls from his coat pocket.

"Potions… It doesn't require spellwork?"

"Not at all," Horace confirms.

"My mum always said it was just measure, stir, bottle," Argus says.

Horace considers for a moment, lips pursed. Finally, he shrugs, seeming to accept this. "It is a bit more complex than that, but I suppose, simplistically speaking, that could be a fair evaluation."

"Do you think…" Argus trails off, clearing his throat. Shame heats his cheeks. "Could a Squib do it? If they… If they were taught?"

"I would imagine it isn't terribly unheard of. Even Muggles can make simple healing tonics," Horace says. "Of course, they don't call them potions."

"Could you teach me?"

He doesn't know what he expects, only that it is never good whenever he is forced to acknowledge that he is a Squib, that he is somehow lesser than the others around him. He is met with pity, at best, and, at worst, cruelty.

But Horace is kinder than most. He smiles warmly. "It is most unconventional," he says, and Argus feels himself deflating, "but I don't see why not. Shall we begin tomorrow night after dinner?"

Argus feels hope flutter through his insides. For the first time in forever, he feels like maybe he can belong.


	83. Explorations and Friends (Colin&Ginny)

_Word Count: 579_

* * *

Colin tells himself that he can breathe away the nervousness. It isn't like he's doing anything wrong. As far as he knows, there's nothing in the rules about exploring the castle.

Maybe that isn't the reason his hands tremble. The castle is so big, and he doesn't even know where to begin with his exploration. What if he gets lost? What if a professor gives him detention because he does something he isn't supposed to?

"You look like you're about to pass out. Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Colin looks up, blushing. He recognizes Ginny Weasley from the Sorting ceremony and their classes together, but he hasn't really spoken to her. "I'm okay," he says.

She smiles at him. "You're a Muggleborn, yeah?"

He can't help but feel a little defensive. A group of Slytherins called him horrible names, ridiculing him for his blood status. But Ginny doesn't seem like that sort of person, so he just nods.

"It can be a lot to take in, I suppose."

He lifts his camera, smiling. "I told my little brother I would take lots of pictures," he says.

Maybe it's silly, but he had made a promise to Dennis. Colin doubts that Ginny cares, but he finds himself rambling about his little brother, about photography, about how everything about this castle makes him so nervous.

Ginny listens patiently, kindly. After several moments of Colin's endless rambling, she nods, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. "Well, we had better get started."

"We… What?"

"If you're determined to explore this whole castle, we need to get started," she says.

Colin hadn't planned for anyone to join him as he tries to document his stay at the castle. Really, he had assumed people would think he's ridiculous for it.

But Ginny looks so sincere with her offer. How can Colin refuse? "Okay. Let's go."

…

By the time they clear the second floor, Colin's stomach growls. Breakfast feels so far away now, but he's too excited. They've found passages and classrooms and ghosts and so many other amazing things. Colin can't wait to get his film developed so he can tell Dennis all about this wild and strange place and all the amazing things he's found in his adventure.

"We should probably get to lunch," Ginny says once the close the door to a classroom that smells like it hasn't been used since the sixteenth century.

Colin wants to protest because there's still so much to see, but his stomach growls again. Ginny's right. Lunch would be good now.

"Hey, wait." Colin holds up his camera, grinning. "Can I take your picture?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

Colin blushes. How does he explain that he's never really had friends? That this is something big for him? That he is just as excited to have met her as he is to have explored the castle?

"I told Dennis I'd tell him about any cool people I met," he says, and he tries not to sound terribly desperate.

Ginny smiles and tucks her red hair behind her ears. "Okay. Let's do it," she laughs.

Colin snaps the picture quickly. "Thanks."

Ginny links her arms with his, humming as she guides him through the castle. Colin knows they'll continue their journey throughout Hogwarts when they finish eating, but that isn't even what has him so excited.

He has a friend to share his adventures with. That's definitely something to write home about.


	84. Our Revival (Dean)

_Reserve League, season 5, round 11, Chaser 2: Write about a death on a spring day._

_Word Count: 1110_

* * *

"Are you really telling me that there's no hope for peace? Can't we just sign an accord or something?"

Dean almost laughs at the question. _An accord. _As if they can just pick up the pieces and say all is forgiven. As if this is all just a silly disagreement with an easy solution. As if countless people haven't died because of Voldemort, even before his rise to power during that fateful battle at Hogwarts. As if Harry Potter dying isn't enough to remind them that they are so screwed.

He shakes his head and climbs to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Coming to this meeting had been a mistake. Most of the members of their little camp don't actually know what it's like. They aren't out there, playing soldiers despite not having any formal training, despite the fact that they're all scared shitless.

"Mr. Thomas, kindly return to your seat," Professor McGonagall, who, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt, has been acting as leader of this camp, instructs.

At Hogwarts, he would have had no choice but to comply. Once upon a time, the only thing he had to worry about was detention. Well, now what? Would she make him sit out on the next big mission and force him to write _I will not walk out on voluntary meetings ever again_. Doubtful.

He doesn't turn around, just heads for the door. There's something about this place that makes him feel so on edge, like he's about to come out of his skin. Maybe it's the fact that he's been on the run for so long. How can he sit still when the memory of freedom is still so fresh in his mind.

Once outside, he breathes in, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Spring is upon them. He can smell the floral notes in the air, coupled with the rich, earthy smell of the vegetable garden near the eastern boundary.

It's been nearly a year since everything went to hell. Now, it's spring, the season of rebirth and renewal, and it seems so ridiculous. Why should the earth continue to turn? Why should spring come and breathe new life back into the world? So many people are dead. It seems cruel to just carry on.

"You feeling okay, mate?" Seamus catches up to him when Dean nears the southern boundary.

"I just…" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't even know how to give a name to the things he feels. They are just there, voiceless and ever-present, always under his skin.

Seamus rests a hand on his shoulder. It feels nice. There's so much pain and destruction, and sometimes all it takes is just a gentle connection, a reminder that he isn't alone.

The two stand in silence for several moments. Slowly, the tension drains from Dean's body, and he thinks that maybe he's going to be okay. Seamus is still there, and all it takes is one good friend, and he can conquer the world.

"We're going to figure this out," Seamus tells him, and he sounds so sure that Dean believes him. "Together."

"Together," Dean agrees.

…

Gardening is not his strong point. Dean's mother tried to teach him once, but Dean killed all the strawberry plants in less than a week. Somehow, he ends up on garden duty with Neville. The only bright is that it's much easier to tend to gardens when magic is involved.

"Careful!" Neville cautions. "Too much water can kill it."

"But plants like water," Dean says flatly.

Neville shakes his head. "So do I, but I can still drown in it."

Dean shrugs. It's a fair point. He casts a quick spell, siphoning the excess water. As he moves to the next plant, there's an explosion toward the west of the camp. Dean's head jerks up, wand raising.

Neville is just as quick on his feet. He casts a Patronus, sending a rallying announcement throughout the camp. Dean doesn't stick around for long. Abandoning the garden, he sprints forward. He's halfway across the camp when the barrier falls.

Seamus is by his side in an instant, grinning at him. "Fancy meeting you here," he says.

Dean is about to answer when the first few Death Eaters make their way through. He watches as Professor Flitwick engages one in a duel and Oliver Wood challenges the other.

More and more spill in. Dean's heart quickens. How could they have found them? This isn't a mere coincidence where a handful of them just happened to stumble upon the camp. This is a siege.

Without a word, the two charge, casting spells this way and that. Dean will not go down without a fight.

…

The battle lasts for hours. By some miracle, Flitwick is able to drive the last of them out and set up new boundaries that they hope will hold until they can make their next move.

The losses are too heavy. Dean walks through the camp, passing body after body. He comes to a stop in front of McGonagall. Neville said she died protecting the Patil twins, that she had thrown herself in front of Parvati and Padma despite having been disarmed moments before.

"You were one of the best," he tells her, his voice cracking. Tears cling to his lashes, and he quickly wipes them away and moves along.

Ginny Weasely, Poppy Pomfrey, Dennis Creevey… There are too many familiar faces, gone forever.

He comes to a stop in the middle of the camp, where he finds the woman from the meeting the previous day, clinging to her husband and begging him to wake up.

"This is why there is no hope for peace," he says loudly.

All eyes are on him now. Dean swallows dryly. He never wanted to be a leader, but maybe he doesn't get a say in that.

"We kill in self-defense," he says. "We kill because we have to. But these people? They kill because a monster tells them to. You want peace? As long as that monster is still alive, it isn't happening. We _have _to fight."

He nods to add emphasis to his words. Kingsley smiles at him, approval clear in the gentle curve of the corners of his lips. "Well put," Kingsley says, taking his place as the center of everyone's attention. Dean is glad to step away.

He doesn't stay for Kingsley's speech. Instead, he makes his way along, breathing in the spring air with Seamus by his side. Maybe it's a fitting season after all. Something within him is waking. It is time to heed the call.

This is his revival.


	85. Colin the Niffler (Romilda)

_Word Count: 1012_

* * *

It feels good to be back at Hogwarts. The real Hogwarts. Proper Hogwarts without the Carrows and terrifying rules and laws that lead to awful punishments. But it still isn't quite home. Romilda can feel it in her bones. Something is missing. There are people who didn't make it back, whose absences are felt in the depths of her soul. Some had been strangers, others acquaintances. Still, some had been her friends.

As she makes her way to Care of Magical Creatures, squinting against the fog, Romilda misses Colin a little more. They had struck up an unlikely friendship in her fourth year. As she nears Hagrid's teaching area near his hut, she thinks of Colin. He always loved this class. Even though he wouldn't need the class for any of his planned careers, he had still wanted to take it his sixth year, but he never had the chance. It seems only right that she takes it now. What a simple but sweet way to honor her friend's memory.

It's Nifflers today. Romilda's heart feels so heavy. Colin had adored Nifflers; he would have loved this lesson.

She pays more attention to the class than she ever has before, taking notes even though she really doesn't need it. When it's time to approach the Nifflers, she finds herself surprisingly eager.

The one she is tasked with feeding is a boy, and he loves her gold earrings. It takes a lot to convince him not to take them, and Romilda finds herself laughing despite the pain in her chest.

This is what Colin would have wanted, she realizes. He had been the kindest, sweetest boy ever. He wouldn't want his loved ones to dwell on his death and lose themselves in despair. He would want her to laugh and smile whenever she remembers him, to hold on to hope because that's what he had fought for.

He would be proud of her now. Look at how strong she's being! It's adorable the way the Niffler climbs up her arm, reaching for her earrings. Listen to the way she laughs! Isn't there so much promise in that sound? Can't you hear the hope and endless possibility whenever she opens her mouth?

She can imagine him so vividly in her head now. She knows he would be standing there, reading for his camera and snapping a picture. He would call it a perfect moment, and she would find her own copy of the photograph at her desk in Charms the next day.

Her other friends used to laugh. They would call it blatant flirting because they just didn't understand Colin and how his mind worked. She isn't sure that he ever looked at anyone with romantic interest, really. He just loves so deeply, and he was never afraid of expressing it, though others mocked him for it.

The Niffler still struggles against her grip, and she can't help but giggle. He reminds her a bit of Colin. He had been small too, but he had also been so determined. Once he would set his mind to something, he would not rest until it was done. His brain would latch on and refuse to let go. Even better, he would try to inspire the same dedication in her. Whenever Romilda struggled, Colin was always there, cheering her on and making her believe she could do it.

She needs that same cheer now. Some days are easier than others, but it still hurts so bloody bad. They had won the war, but the cost feels so great sometimes. Everyone, regardless of House, blood status, or walk of life has lost someone. Everyone is struggling very much like she is now. She can see it in their eyes. They're carrying the weight on their shoulders, and sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes the only reason she doesn't give in to the pain and despair is because she knows he wouldn't.

The Niffler manages to wriggle out of her grip. She squeals, startled as his tiny little paws snatch the earring from her ear. Still, she laughs as she manages to get him under control again. So much like Colin. Maybe that's what she'll call him. Hagrid has undoubtedly already named each and every creature she will meet this year, but she thinks he will understand.

Colin the Niffler groans his annoyance, squirming, but Romilda doesn't let go. She clings to him, keeping him in place.

Colin the human really would have loved this. She can imagine him doubling over as soon as he realized she was missing an earring. He would tease her and recite the article on Nifflers, reminding her that they like shiny things, and she should have taken her earrings out the moment she knew they would be handling the mischievous creatures.

Hagrid announces the end of the lesson, and Romilda is more than a little disappointed to return Colin. It's the first time in ages that she has really and truly felt like everything would be okay. Colin had believed in signs and omens. Romilda would always laugh and tell him that he ought to have tea with Trelawney then.

But maybe there's something to it. Maybe it isn't just a coincidence that her first day back at Hogwarts began with Nifflers. She's never believed in it before, but what if?

As she nears the enclosure, she pauses, studying Colin the Niffler for a moment longer. She can see her earring glittering in his pouch. With a smile, Romilda adjusts her grip on the creature and removes her other earring, offering it to the Niffler. He accepts it happily, holding it up and studying the way it shines in the light.

Once Colin the Niffler has joined the others, Romilda starts back toward the castle. It's still hard. Maybe it will never really get easy. Maybe there will always be some part of her that's stuck in the past.

For now, though, she feels that flicker of hope. She will carry on. She will find a way to smile through her pain.


	86. How to Carry On (Dean)

_Word Count: 1166_

* * *

They're sitting around the campfire after a modest meal of fish and berries. Ted and Dirk go back and forth, debating the merits of sending someone into a nearby town for supplies.

"I mean, we could go incognito," Dirk suggests as Dean focuses on his sketchbook, dirty fingers gripping what's left of his last pencil. "It isn't like anyone is on our trail."

_He has a point, _Dean thinks, but he doesn't voice this because even though he is an adult in the wizarding world, he doesn't feel like one yet. He lets the older men, the one who are more certain, act as the voices of reason.

They haven't encountered Snatchers in a week now. That has to be a good sign. Maybe they don't actually have targets on their backs. Ted disagrees, of course. Bellatrix Lestrange wants him dead, and he thinks she won't stop until she gets her way.

"It's too dangerous," Ted says, and his tone is so firm that Dean looks up from the half-finished portrait of Seamus, a poor rendition drawn from fading memories.

It's so unlike Ted to speak with such authority. From the moment Dean met him, he has proven to be a Hufflepuff through and through. Even Griphook seems to like him, and Griphook tends to not like humans. Even now, the goblin keeps his distance, back against a tree, listening and watching but never speaking.

"I'm not saying we ought to live like kings," Dirk insists, "but we need to have _something. _I would kill for a can of soup, honestly."

Dean's stomach growls at the mention of food. He's noticed during his time on the run that it's hard to stay full. Even if they find enough food to make a proper meal, they use so much energy as they stay on the move. It doesn't take long for their stomachs to empty again.

Dean thinks there might be some merit in what Dirk suggests. What's the harm in casting a spell and sneaking into a shop after hours? True, it's illegal, but these are desperate and dark times, and he thinks it's okay to bend the laws if needed.

"We will keep going in the morning," Ted announces. "Maybe if we put more distance between us and them, we can consider it. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind a hot shower."

"Or a warm bed," Dirk agrees, and he smiles because they seem to have reached an understanding.

Once it seems like the tension has faded, Dean returns his attention to his sketch. He loses himself in thought as he tries to line up Seamus' freckles just right. Then comes the noise, the unmistakable sound of something hitting their defensive wards.

"What was that spell?" Ted asks.

"Does it matter?" Dirk counters, on his feet in an instant, his wand drawn and ready. "If they're aiming spells at us, they're probably not friendly."

This scenario is painfully familiar. Dean really had hoped they had finally found peace. It doesn't take long to pack his bag and sling it over his shoulder. He takes several steps back until he is near Griphook.

The goblin always insists that he doesn't _need _to be defended, but Dean has noticed that Griphook stays behind the others during an attack.

He keeps his wand raised, his heart racing. Once their defenses fall, they will only have a few seconds to act. He knows the drill. One or two Snatchers, cast a few Stunning Spells, and get the hell out of there. Dean tenses, ready to grab Griphook at any second and Apparate to safety. They have a spot picked out, the closest thing to a safe spot that they can manage in these terrible times.

He sees a ripple through the air as another spell hits their barrier. It won't hold much longer. His chest aches, panic causing his lungs to feel like they've shriveled within his body.

It doesn't take long before it falls. One moment, he feels safe, the next, he sees a swarm of Snatchers, grinning and wicked and already screaming curses and hexes.

This isn't how it usually goes, and Dean isn't prepared for this. He freezes, a pained scream ripping through his throat. They're doomed.

A jet of green light hits Dirk square in the chest, and he falls. Somehow, Ted is quick on his feet. Amidst the chaos, he turns to Dean. "Take Griphook and run!" he cries. "Now, Dean!"

That's all it takes. Dean snaps out of it, grabbing Griphook by the wrist. For once, the goblin doesn't protest; if anything, he seems happy that anyone has thought of him at all.

"Go!" Ted screams between spells, moving with surprising grace.

With no choice, Dean obeys. With a _pop _he disappears, leaving Ted behind.

…

He's crying when they land. It's a small campsite they had stopped at a month ago. Ted had found it, and now Ted isn't there, and Dean is crying. He tries to steady himself and breathe, but he can't. It doesn't matter that they've made it to safety. Dirk is dead, and Ted isn't there.

"Put up the wards!" Griphook urges impatiently.

Dean shakes his head. "Not yet," he says. "Ted is coming."

In his heart, he knows it's wishful thinking. They had been badly outnumbered back there. As a group, they couldn't have taken out every single Snatcher. Ted alone…

But he doesn't want to think like that, doesn't want to believe that this is a world where Ted could be dead.

Griphook grunts his annoyance. He gestures at Dean's wand. "Don't put that away then," he snaps. "Some of us cannot wield magic as wizards do."

Dean nods, sitting down and gripping his wand. "You can rest," he tells his companion. I'll keep watch."

Griphook doesn't respond, but he finds a spot that's a safe distance away, starts a fire, and curls up beside it.

Dean waits. Ted will come back. He _has _to. Against all odds, he will find a way to make it out of this.

Except Dean knows it isn't true. He just can't bring himself to give up hope yet.

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Griphook has been snoring for some time now, and the forest is alive with the calls of nocturnal animals.

He has to face it. Ted isn't coming back.

Dean closes his eyes, taking a moment to reflect on the two men they've lost. Both had been good; they deserved better.

Ted wouldn't want him to sit here, feeling miserable like this. He would want Dean to stay alive and be okay. As much as it hurts, that's what he has to do.

Dean stands, raising his wand and casting the defensive spells the way Dirk and Ted taught him. Once he's satisfied, he sits by the fire and takes his sketchbook out. The portrait of Seamus can wait. For now, while things are still fresh in his mind, he begins to draw Ted.


	87. It's a Date (NevilleHannah)

_Word Count: 578_

* * *

Neville swears softly when the rain picks up. He had hoped it would be just a little drizzle, something light and quick and gone before it can ruin the picnic he had planned. Of course it would be his luck that it would end in a downpour.

To make matters worse, he thinks he might have been stood up. His eyes flicker to his watch. She should have been here nearly half an hour ago.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he needs to be patient. Maybe she got caught in the downpour. Maybe she's a bundle of nerves and trying to compose herself.

Still, he feels jittery. He doesn't usually do blind dates. What if he's disappointing? What if…?

"Are you Neville?"

Neville turns. For a moment, he forgets how to speak. Susan had shown Neville pictures of her roommate, but those pictures hadn't done Hannah justice at all. She has a classic sort of beauty to her that reminds Neville of Hollywood actresses from when his grandmother was a little girl.

Finally, he manages to nod. "Y-yeah. You must be Hannah," he says.

She nods her confirmation and shivers. "This is why I never trust the forecast," she says. "Freezing rain, and it's only August!" She offers him a soft smile. "Sorry the picnic got ruined, but I have an idea."

Neville raises his brows curiously. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Hannah gestures toward the barista. "We can discuss it over a cappuccino."

…

Hannah's idea, it turns out, leads them to the museum of horticulture because Susan mentioned Neville's plans to become a botanist. He grins as they walk through the first exhibit.

"This must be very boring for you," he says.

He knows very well that his obsession with plants isn't a particularly popular one. Not everyone likes plants the way he does. His own grandmother doesn't have the patience to listen to him ramble about his passion, though she is usually polite about it.

But Hannah watches him. He can feel her eyes on him as he lingers at a display, taking each and every plant and its history in with delight. She doesn't complain or rush him along. She is good and kind, and Neville thinks she's amazing for it.

Hannah laughs softly. "A bit," she admits, tugging at her earring. "But you look so happy. It's cute."

He feels goosebumps raise over his flush. A blush heats his cheeks. She called him cute, and he feels a little giddy for it.

"If you wanted to do something else, I would understand," he tells her.

"No. I like this."

And so they carry on. Hannah doesn't complain once. She just follows him, smiling as he tells her about this plant or that. It's the most wonderful feeling, and Neville never wants it to end.

…

When they reach the final exhibit, Neville wrings his hands together. He's never been very good at this, and he isn't entirely sure what to say.

Hannah beats him to it. "I had a lot of fun," she says, grinning at him.

She's so sincere about it that Neville's stomach does cartwheels within his body. He nods. "Yeah. Me too." He swallows dryly. "Can I see you again?"

"If you'd like. I have to work every day until Saturday. I'd love to do something then."

Saturday feels like it's a million years away, but Neville nods. He knows without a doubt that she is worth the wait.


	88. Make Tonight Last (RegMarlene)

_For Anna._

_Word Count: 1013_

* * *

"Did it ever occur to you," Regulus grumbles, shivering as he treks through the snow, following behind Marlene, "that we could get caught and end up in detention until summer?"

His girlfriend snorts. She turns, an amused smile on her lips, but she doesn't stop. Her pace quickens, and Regulus wonders how she doesn't fall over. "Did you know you're a lot less daring than your brother?" she teases.

Regulus knows she doesn't mean anything by it, but he can't help but wince. Of course Sirius is braver. He's a Gryffindor, after all, and Regulus is not. Still, he smiles. "Daring enough to enter into a forbidden relationship," he says.

It isn't quite so dramatic. _Forbidden _isn't the right word for them. Their Houses are rivals, but that's it.

Except it really isn't. Regulus knows where his path will take him. Like Bellatrix, he will receive the Dark Mark. Marlene is too good and kind for that. One day, when they are out of this castle, they will be on opposing sides. Enemies and nothing more.

He shakes his head. Thinking about that won't do any good. All it will do is spoil the moment at hand.

Once they reach the frozen lake, Marlene mutters a spell, transfiguring her trainers into ice skates. She does the same for Regulus. He considers reminding her that he doesn't actually like ice skating, but there isn't really a point. He would never deny her this or anything.

And so he lets her slide her hand into his and pull him onto the ice. Regulus' movements are shaky, not nearly as graceful as hers. He is meant to fly, not skate.

"Remember, if you break anything, you have to be the one to explain it to Pomfrey," she says in a sing-song voice, releasing his hand and skating ahead of him.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he can't fight the smile that tugs at his lips. "You'll have to be the one to escort me to the hospital wing," he points out. He wobbles as he moves, trying to swallow down his nerves. He has never cared much for ice skating, but if Marlene is happy, then so is he. "Unless you just plan to leave me out here to freeze."

Marlene turns, skating backwards. Regulus doesn't know how she does it; if he tried, he would undoubtedly bust his ass. She makes it look so easy. "Hmmm… That's an idea," she chuckles. "I don't suppose you've left me in your will, have you?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You're hilarious."

His girlfriend beams at that, turning again. "I'll take that as a no. How disappointing, Reg."

Regulus doesn't know how long they're on the ice, only that his legs eventually begin to ache. Marlene guides him along, changing their skates back into trainers before setting up a little area for a snowy picnic. Regulus watches in amusement. In the back of his mind, he wonders how she could have managed such a perfect thing, and she is so bold in breaking curfew, like rules mean nothing to her. It's just another reason for him to love her. She is his polar opposite, so bold and courageous. Sometimes he wonders if she might be a better match for Sirius.

Marlene pats a spot beside her on the blanket, quietly urging him forward. Regulus sits next to her, grey eyes turning toward the clear night sky. Overhead, stars twinkle and shine, and he is suddenly so very aware of exactly how perfect this moment is. He wishes he could freeze the moment or find a way to bottle this feeling and preserve it forever.

"You're quiet," Marlene muses, gently nudging him with her elbow. "Knut for your thoughts?"

Regulus considers brushing it off and avoiding the question. That doesn't feel right, though. Still, he isn't sure how to explain the things he feels.

Marlene pulls out a bottle of pumpkin juice, taking a sip. Of course she raided the kitchen. It was such a Marlene thing to do. He wouldn't be surprised if she had found a way to befriend the house-elves in the process.

"You've got an actual feast, huh?"

She looks up at him, grinning. "Don't change the subject," she says, though she confirms his suspicion by pulling out sandwiches and fruit and cake. "What are you thinking about?"

He doesn't know where the words come from. Maybe it's something he's always felt but has never voiced. They feel so natural as they fall from his lips. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispers, plucking a strawberry from the bowl, "and I'm not giving that up."

It's like a weight has lifted with the admission. He can feel something change, some newly found sense of freedom. Maybe there is hope for him. Maybe he doesn't have to follow the rules his parents have set for him.

He can't help but laugh at the sudden lightness that overtakes his body. He is in control of his destiny; for the first time in his life, he actually feels free.

"Don't worry," she says. She moves closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

How could he have ever considered giving this up? He and Marlene are meant to be, a perfect match despite their differences.

She turns so that her lips brush against his. Regulus pulls her closer, deepening the kiss and smiling into it. It really is such a glorious, perfect moment, and he wonders how he ever got so lucky.

"I think I might actually be the happiest bloke alive," he tells her.

And he means it with every fiber of his being. All it takes is one look from Marlene, and everything feels right in the world. He can feel himself changing for the better, and it's all thanks to her.

"We should probably sneak back inside soon," she murmurs. "I'm starting to get a bit cold."

Regulus wraps an arm around her, holding her close. "Soon," he says.

He just wants to hold on for a little longer.


	89. Patience (Ron and Rose )

_Word Count: 1101_

* * *

"Dad?" Rose stands in the doorway, smiling _that _smile.

Ron sighs heavily. That's the smile that means she is undoubtedly about to get her way. He wonders if he should go ahead and say yes now, or at least make a show of it so he can tell Hermione that he _did _try, thank you very much. With a smile, he sets the newspaper aside and looks up at his daughter. "Yes, Rosie?"

She wrinkles her nose. At fifteen, she likes to think she's too old for such childish nicknames. Still, she smiles because she knows she likes it, even though she likes to protest it. "Can you teach me to drive?"

That definitely isn't what he had expected. Ron raises his brows, eyes wide as he studies her. She keeps a straight face, and he assumes she must be serious. "Don't you think your mother might be better suited for that, sweetheart?"

Rose gives him a look, and he understands it all too well. Hermione is wonderful. Really, she is. Unfortunately, as brilliant as Hermione is, she is a terrible teacher. Ron thinks it's because she holds everyone and everything to such a high standard. Just teaching him to bake a cake from scratch had led to an argument and Ron sleeping on the couch for two nights.

"Never mind," he says with an awkward laugh.

Rose takes a seat across from him, resting her elbows on the table. "So… You'll do it?"

"Why do you want to learn to drive so badly?"

She scowls, and Ron can guess. Scorpius Malfoy. The two of them have such a ridiculous rivalry, and he seems to be the root of her every endeavor. Ron wonders when the two are going to realize they fancy one another. Then again, maybe Rose is just as clueless as he had been.

"Scorpius doesn't know how to drive," she answers.

"Well, of course not. He's a Malfoy."

"But his mum will get him a private instructor! I have to learn, so I can apply to be his instructor, and then I can rub it in his face that I learned before he did!" Rose says with such an energy that Ron is reminded of one of those supervillains from the old Muggle movies Hermione likes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit scary when you're competitive?"

She grins brightly and climbs to her feet again, moving closer and throwing her arms around him. "Please, Dad? Pretty please with Chocolate Frogs and whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles on top?"

He wonders if he's put up enough of a show. Hermione always says he spoils the kids, but Ron can't help it; he just wants to make them happy. "Okay, okay," he says, climbing to his feet. He places a kiss on the top of her head. "Let's go."

…

Ron doesn't remind Rose that he only vaguely knows how cars work, and that he had needed a little assistance in passing his exam. He knows enough, and he trusts himself. After all, he would never do anything stupid and reckless that could lead to Rose getting hurt.

"Ease your foot off the brake, and touch the accelerator very lightly," he instructs.

He can't see Rose's feet, but he assumes she's doing as he says. A moment later, the car speeds forward several inches. With a squeal, Rose slams on brakes, causing Ron to jerk forward, snagging roughly against the seatbelt.

Rose offers him a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Dad."

"It's okay, Rosie," he says, and he's certain all his hair must have gone white in that moment. "Let's just… keep going."

It takes nearly half an hour for her to learn how to make the car move forward without any drama. Ron finds himself smiling. It really is best that he's the one helping Rose. She and Hermione are too similar, and he imagines one of them would have stormed off to cool down by now.

"You're doing great, Rose," he says as they creep along at a snail's pace. "Try going just a little faster."

Once again, she presses down a little too hard. The car moves forward suddenly, swiping against a tree. The mirror on Ron's side falls to the ground.

"Oops."

Ron just smiles. "We can fix that," he says.

…

Two hours later, she has her speed perfected. Braking, on the other hand…

"Ease into it."

The brakes squeal noisily, and the car jerks. Ron grips the arms of his seat until his knuckles turn a ghostly white.

"I'm terrible," Rose says with a heavy sigh at the end of the day.

"No, you're not. You just have to learn to lightly tap the brake. It's like Quidditch. If you're a Chaser, passing the Quaffle to your teammate, do you sling it at them with full force?"

Rose shakes her head. "No. You don't want to break their noses," she answers. Her eyes widen, and she gasps softly. "Oh!"

"Oh," Ron echoes, nodding and grinning. When in doubt, Rose understands Quidditch.

"So… I hit the accelerator," she murmurs, doing so. The car moves along. "Then I gently hit the brake…"

Ron holds his breath. Rose's foot slowly presses against the brake, and they ease to a stop.

"Look at you, Rosie!" he praises, holding his hand out for a high five. "You'll be ready for the road in no time!"

…

Their driving lessons last for a week and a half. Rose picks it up easily enough, and Ron finds himself having to reread the old manual and refresh his memory on actual proper technique. Rose is always so patient with him when he has to check something in the book, and he returns the favor by patently guiding her along.

She is better than he had been. Maybe it's because she had actually _wanted _to learn to drive.

"Look at you," he says, clapping. "We'll be able to get your provisional driving license soon."

Rose beams proudly, unbuckling her seatbelt. The two get out of the car. "I told Scorpius about my driving lessons," she says.

Knowing Rose, she probably bragged about them. Ron doesn't ask.

"Do you plan to teach him?" Ron asks curiously.

Rose shakes her head. "I told him that you could teach him," she says.

Ron clears his throat, shaking his head. "You told him what now?"

"I just don't have the patience that you do." Rose shrugs, smiling up at him. "You were a good teacher, Dad."

Ron bites back a laugh, shaking his head. It's ridiculous the things he'll do for his daughter. "Okay. Fine."


	90. Not Her Dream (Bellatrix)

_Word Count: 460_

* * *

Bellatrix isn't like most girls. Andromeda and Narcissa had always dreamt of their wedding days as children; Bellatrix often found Andromeda and Rabastan in the garden, playing pretend. As she had grown older, she had realized it's common enough. Her old Housemates would talk about their dream weddings. They would swoon and sigh as they planned every perfect detail between giggles.

Bellatrix has never wanted that life. What is the point of being bound to man? Many might say it's for love, but Bellatrix doesn't believe in such silly nonsense. Love his no place in a marriage. Weddings are just silly matters, just a necessity in order to do what must be done.

She is dressed in white because it is traditional, and in the finest silk because she is a Black. She doesn't care. There had been no dress fittings and searching for something perfect. No one stands beside her, dressed in pretty colors. Likewise, no one is there for Rodolphus.

It is a quiet affair. No glitz, no glamor. Bellatrix supposes she looks beautiful. Most girls would have spent hours in front of the mirror, fawning over their reflections. Not her. She couldn't care less about what she looks like.

This is just part of being a Black. Bellatrix never chose Rodolphus, just as she hadn't chosen the date or the location.

She wonders, as she walks down the aisle, a veil hiding her face, if, in a different life, this could have been a beautiful day. Andromeda had run away; she had sought out that fairytale dream. Bellatrix wonders if she should envy her sister for it.

No, she decides, her heart hardening. Andromeda hadn't understood what marriage is meant for. Bellatrix does. Bellatrix will honor it.

She stands before Rodolphus. He lifts her veil, and they say their vows. Is she supposed to feel something? Should there be some light, fluttering feeling in her stomach? Naricssa says Lucius makes her heart race. Why can't Bellatrix feel anything now?

She stands there, stoic. Their lips meet, and she hears a few laughs and cheers from their witnesses, followed immediately by her father's annoying shushing. Nothing changes. She is still just a woman who has a duty to fulfill. There will be no fairytale ending for her.

Rodolphus takes her hand, and he smiles. Is this real for him? The poor bastard. Bellatrix almost pities him. "Shall we, Mrs. Lestrange?" he asks. He sounds so proud of himself.

Maybe she should play along and make him feel better. She can't bring herself to do it. "Let's go," she says impatiently.

This isn't her dream. It's just a part to play, a lie to live. It is her duty, and Bellatrix always and always will be a loyal daughter.


	91. A Strange Friendship (Dudley & Dedalus)

_Word Count: 693_

* * *

Dudley knows his dad likes for them to keep their distance from Dedalus and Hestia. His mother is a little more lax in her position on the witch and wizard, but even she is wary around them.

And still, Dudley finds himself seeking Dedalus out one warm Friday afternoon. The tiny man stretches out in a hammock, his purple top hat covering his eyes. Dudley might think he's having a nice little nap, but his pipe is tucked lazily between his lips, and he puffs away.

"You aren't very good at stealth, are you?" Dedalus asks with a chuckle. He vanishes the pipe and adjusts his hat so that he can look at Dudley, lips twisting into a grin. "I heard you coming from several feet away."

Dudley scowls. "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."

It's true enough. He had only been trying to sneak out of the house. At the very least, he had needed his parents to not realize where he's going. It isn't like they'll actually be upset with him; they never get upset with him. They just feel a certain way about magic, and Dudley doesn't know if he still agrees with them.

"You would get along swimmingly with Tonks," Dedalus muses.

Dudley doesn't know what a Tonks is, and he doesn't ask. He just shrugs. Now that he's out here, he doesn't actually know why. Maybe he just enjoys the older man's company. Maybe Dedalus is a nice change from his old life on Privet Drive. Maybe he's just lonely.

"Galleon for your thoughts?" Dedalus asks.

"A… What?" Dudley tips his head to the side, confused.

Dedalus chuckles and plucks a strange gold coin from his pocket. It almost looks like those chocolate coins that are wrapped in gold foil. Dudley takes, curiously studying it. It's definitely solid. Real gold. His eyes widen. "What is this?"

"Wizard money," Dedalus answers before pulling out two more smaller coins. One is silver, the other bronze. "This is a Sickle and a Knut. I would explain the conversion rate, but I am terrible with numbers."

"Me too," Dudley admits. The only reason he had managed to pass math at all is because Dennis understands that shit, and he had always let Dudley copy his work.

It seems strange that Dedalus can't do math well either. Maybe it's the fact that he's older, or the fact that he can do magic, but Dedalus seems like the type of man who can do anything.

"Yes, but you can work the velly-tision and make the pictures move in the box," Dedalus says, nodding. "Much more important than math."

Dudley snorts. Coming from anyone else, he might have assumed that had been a jab. But not Dedalus. He is just as amazed by the normal things as Dudley is by his magic. Their first night in the cabin in the woods, Dedalus had watched from the shadows, squealing happily each time Dudley changed the channel.

"Oh, and those blocks with the films on them!" Dedalus adds, clapping his hands together in excitement.

"I can teach you how to use the telly," Dudley says. He shrugs. "VCR too."

Dedlaus sits up so quickly that the hammock overturns. His short legs get tangled slightly in the netting. If it bothers him, he doesn't show it. He just waves his wand, looking up at Dudley with bright, eager eyes. Once his legs are free, he stands, dusting himself off. "You would do that?" He grins so broadly that Dudley thinks his face might split in half.

"Yeah. Of course. That's what friends are for."

And he means it. It's a strange sort of friendship. Daedalus is old enough to be his father, and he comes from a different world. Neither really understands the other, not completely. But that's okay. Friendships don't have to make sense.

"What about the microwave?" Dedalus asks as they start back toward the cabin. "Oh, not the toaster, though. That one scares me."

Dudley smiles as he listens to Dedalus ramble. His world has changed and been flipped upside-down, but it's okay. At least he doesn't have to go through it alone.


	92. The Future Can Wait (Dom & Vic)

_Word Count: 397_

* * *

The seaside is covered in a thin layer of snow that crunches beneath their feet. Dominique huff's, her breath coming out like smoke against the cold December air. She hates the cold, but she and Victoire so rarely have these moments where they both like one another enough to spend time together. Maybe it's just a Christmas miracle.

"Hello, baby!" Dominique calls cheerfully, adjusting her scarf as she approaches a small gull just a few feet away from their home.

Victoire snorts. "Are you trying to open an animal sanctuary in your basement?" she teases.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dominique says. "We don't have a basement. Your room will be empty soon."

The words feel strangely painful. Maybe she and Victoire bicker more often than not, but the thought of her not being around hurts. Still, Victoire is seventeen now. This summer, she'll be in France, studying advanced potions. Dominique is happy for her sister, of course, but still… She hates the idea of Victoire not being around.

"Do you ever think that maybe you attach yourself to animals because you don't quite relate to humans?" Victoire asks, and though her tone is serious, Dominique can see the playful twinkle in her blue eyes. "Maybe you're some sort of abomination, and animals are the only ones who understand you."

Dominique snorts. "Thanks for the psychoanalysis," she says dryly.

Silence hangs between them. There's a faraway look in Victoire's eyes, and Dominique wonders if she can feel it too. Things are changing, and they aren't kids anymore. Once upon a time, they would walk in their yard, watching the crashing waves from the cliffs, and they would dream about their future.

The future has found them now. No more dreaming, no more games. They're practically adults now.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know," Dominique whispers.

Victoire's lips twitch into a smile. "You're stuck with me for a little while longer."

Dominique stands at the edge of the cliff, watching the waves below. Maybe things are changing, but they still have time. They can dream a little longer.

With a grin, she bends down and scoops snow into her hands, quickly forming a snowball and slinging it at her sister. And just like that, all thoughts of adulthood fade away. They are just two sisters, laughing and exchanging snowballs, enjoying the last days of winter holidays.

The future can wait.


	93. Safe Haven (Barty and Regulus)

_Word Count: 621_

They sit together atop the Astronomy Tower, staring up at the twinkling stars overhead. These are the moments Barty lives for. Up here, hidden away from the rest of the world, nothing can harm him; his father can never find him.

Beside him, Regulus takes a drag from his cigarette before exhaling. Barty's nose wrinkles at the tobacco-scented smoke. It's strangely comforting, but he'll never admit it. He enjoys teasing his friend about his bad habit.

"What's bothering you?" Regulus asks, because he knows Barty too well, so of course he can see it. "Is it your father again?"

Of course it is. It's always his father.

…

_He doesn't know where his father found the photograph, but cold fear grips him. When he had begun his friendship with Regulus Black, he had known it would have to remain a secret. His father had explicitly forbidden Barty from becoming friends with _that _sort. _

_"I should keep my eye on you," his father growls. "You know how dangerous that family is!"_

_Barty swallows dryly. He wants to tell his father that he's wrong. Just look at Sirius Black. He's a bloody Gryffindor. Surely the whole family can't be so evil._

_But Barty isn't brave enough to defy his father so openly. All he can do is hang his head. "Yes, Father," he says because he is a good boy, because he has to be perfect, because his father is a terrifying man._

_He hears the sound of something tearing, and his head whips up. His father is unflinching as he shreds the photograph. There's a cruel satisfaction in his eyes._

_Barty doesn't think; he just acts. With a cry, he lunges forward, like he can make a difference at all. His father's knuckles crack against his mouth. Barty jerks back, trembling. His father has never hit him. He's only ever yelled._

_Without a word, his father turns and walks away, locking Barty in the room._

…

Barty doesn't want to tell Regulus about it, but it's just so easy. It's always easy with Regulus. He isn't the monster his father makes him out to be. No one else has ever been so good to Barty, so kind, so gentle.

"I hate him," Regulus says, crushing his cigarette. "I would love a few moments alone with the smug bastard. Show him how dark a Black can be."

That should scare him. Doesn't it prove his father right? But Barty takes comfort in the words. Regulus would go to war for him. Who else has that sort of friendship with someone? Barty doesn't think he'll ever find anyone as loyal as Regulus.

…

_"I'll never be what you want me to be," he whispers._

_He would never dare say it with his father in the room. He has to play his part and pretend. Merlin knows he is so bloody tired of not being able to be himself, of having to be what his father expects him to be._

_He wants to be himself. Truth be told, he would kill for it._

…

It's so natural with Regulus. No more lies, no more pretending. These are the only moments where he feels like he truly belongs.

"You're going to be okay," Regulus says, and he rests a gentle, reassuring hand on Barty's shoulder.

He doesn't always feel like it. Some days, he's losing his mind, and he doesn't know what to do anymore. But then there are these moments with Regulus. Here, leaning against the railing and looking down at the ground below, so high above everything and everyone, he is invincible. There is only him, only Regulus, only this moment.

And, really, from up here he can see that nothing else really matters.


	94. Getting Over (Lilyii&Jamesii)

_Word Count: 486_

* * *

Lily sits atop the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over the ledge. Below, she can see other students going about their lives. Really, she envies them. She is so completely miserable, and she feels like she might break down at any given moment.

"You're not going to jump, are you?"

She whips her head around, scowling when she sees her eldest brother behind her. "James! What are you doing here?" she demands.

She shouldn't be upset with him. It's not like she owns the Astronomy Tower. He has every right to be up here. Still, she doubts it's a coincidence he is here now. James has never cared much for Astronomy; his free time is usually spent on the Quidditch Pitch.

"Lucy said I would find you here," he answers, confirming her suspicions. He moves closer, sitting beside her. "You are so much better than Xander MacMillan."

Lily tenses. Of course that's why he's here. Her heart is broken, and he wants to come in and be her hero. "We're not kids anymore," she mutters. "You can't fix everything that goes wrong in my life."

James chuckles. "Maybe not. But I can fix this. You know the best way to get over an ex, right?"

"James, I swear to God if you say 'get under a new person', I will punch you," she snaps.

Her brother snorts, nudging her gently with his elbow. "Lily Luna Potter," he says, his voice high-pitched and mimicking their mother's whenever she scolds them. "You are supposed to be the sweet, innocent one!"

Silence hangs between them for several moments. Lily closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She's missed this. James is always so busy with his own life, just like she's busy with the things she loves. It feels like she hasn't been able to sit with her brother in ages. Even at home, their paths only ever seem to cross at meals.

She opens her eyes again. "So… How do I do it? How do I get over him?" she asks.

James turns, grinning. Her ruffles her hair affectionately, laughing when Lily scowls and tries to smooth it out again. "Simple. You just keep going. You live your life, and the pieces will all fall into place."

"You know, I almost believe you," she says.

He reaches out, pulling her into a hug. Lily feels the tears slip from her eyes. Maybe she does believe him. Maybe it will be okay.

She doesn't know how. She doesn't know if she even believes that she can carry on. First heartbreaks are the worst. That's what Victoire says, at least.

But James is there, and the world is going to keep spinning. At the end of the day, she still has her family. That will be enough.

"C'mon," James says, climbing to his feet and holding his hand out for her. "Let's find Al and go have an adventure."

"Just like old times."


	95. Be Better (Pansy)

_Word Count: 488_

It's snowing. Pansy can still remember a time when that would make her happy. She longs for that childlike joy. Instead, now, it's just another bleak winter day. The sky is grey, the chill from the wind bites all the way to her bones, her lungs ache with every inhale, and she wants nothing more than to return home, safe and warm by the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa.

She can't. Not now. There's something she needs to do. Truth be told she doesn't want to. Not really. Not today. Maybe not ever.

The snow crunches beneath her boots as she steps through the cemetery gates. It's only been a week since they buried her father, and she still hasn't cried. She hasn't felt anything at all, and she wonders if she's a bad daughter for that.

Her grandmother says it's just grief manifesting in her own way. She says Pansy has to have a breakthrough. Pansy isn't so sure.

She stands in front of her father's grave. It's nice, nicer than the ones surrounding it. Even on his deathbed, he had insisted on proving that he's better than everyone else.

"You were wrong," she says softly. "You backed the wrong side."

She had too, of course. How could she not? Growing up, all she had ever heard was how great purebloods are, how Voldemort had the right idea, how Muggles and Muggleborns were filthy, dangerous things. She had believed him because that's what little girls do. They know their daddies would never lie or hurt them.

But he had been wrong, and she had been foolish. It took months after the battle for her to realize it. She still doesn't have it all figured out, but she thinks she's a step closer, and slow progress is better than no progress.

At the very least, she has done more than her father had. She is learning from his mistakes and her own, and she thinks she can manage to be better, to be the kind of person who deserves the second chance she's been giving.

"I think you tried your best," she says. "You didn't have anyone to tell you it was wrong."

But she does. And that's exactly why she's going to be better, to be something more. It has taken her so long, but she's learning. She's finally on the right path.

"I still love you," she says. "I'm still your baby girl. I promise."

She doesn't know what else to say. Her father had always been eloquent, and Pansy hadn't inherited that particular talent. All she can do is turn and walk away, adjusting her scarf to shield her face from the freezing gust of wind that blows fresh snowflakes against her exposed skin.

As the snow crunches with each step she takes, and feels a change. A weight has been lifted, and tears finally fall from her eyes.

Maybe she is healing.


	96. Put the Kettle On (Marlene&Lily)

_Word Count: 550_

* * *

Marlene feels the heat rise in her cheeks as she checks the time. There's no denying it now. It's been an hour, and she has most definitely been stood up by the bloke Dorcas set her up with. Tears sting her eyes, and she jumps to her feet, tossing a few coins down and stalking out of the restaurant.

It's storming now. Rain beats down, and lightning illuminates the sky with a crackle of electricity. It would be wise to Apparate, but she is too emotional to even think. She walks into the storm, the rain quickly soaking through her dress. She doesn't care. All she wants is to get the hell away from the restaurant and the reminder that she wasn't good enough.

…

It takes waking aimlessly in the rain for nearly an hour before her head clears enough. She can vividly see the house in Godric's Hollow, and she disappears on the spot, arriving with a _pop_ outside the door. Before she can even knock, Lily opens it, frowning.

"Where the hell have you been?" Lily asks. "You're soaked." She doesn't give Marlene a chance to answer before gesturing her inside. "Kick off your shoes and relax.'

Marlene almost laughs at that. She can't see herself relaxing any time soon. The hurt is still so sharp and stinging, so fresh in her mind. She pulls out her wand, muttering a quick charm to dry her clothes before following Lily into the kitchen.

It's such a British thing. Your friend shows up, miserable and alone, so of course you put the kettle on. Marlene almost smiles.

"I got stood up," Marlene announces.

It hurts to say, but at least Lily is kind. Lily won't mock her or look at her with pity in her eyes.

The Potters' cat lets out a meow, bumping its head against Marlene's leg. She reaches down, petting it gently.

"You know what that means?" Lily asks.

"That men are horrible creatures," Marlene deadpans.

She doesn't mean it. Not really. It's just been a string of dating disasters, and she isn't sure how much more she can take.

"I see a chance for a new start," Lily says before dropping a tea bag into each cup. She takes the kettle off and pours the steaming water over the bags. "So, this bloke was an idiot. Sod him. He doesn't know what he's missing."

This is Marlene's first thought had been Lily. They've been friends for so long, practically inseparable since their third year. No one can make her smile the way Lily can.

"You know, Sirius still fancies you," Lily adds, shrugging.

Marlene snorts. She accepts her teacup, dipping the bag in and out a few times and breathing in the soothing aroma. "I know."

"Just a thought. But that's the thing, Mar. You are a free, independent woman. You can do whatever the hell you want."

She smiles at that. It's true. Besides, it isn't like she's in a hurry to get married. Why not just have fun while she can? At least she has Lily, and she would much rather have that strong friendship. It's safe and sturdy, and it reminds her that she is loved so unconditionally.

"James is out with the fellas," Lily says. "Girls' night?"

Marlene nods. "Girls' Night."


	97. What You Love (Roxanne)

_Word Count: 540_

* * *

Roxanne is giddy to the point of lightheadedness. Admittedly, that isn't the best thing when she's on the job. As a Beater for Falmouth, she knows she needs to keep her head straight. Still, they are in the finals on her birthday.

"Happy birthday to me," she says, cracking her bat against the incoming Bludger and sending it soaring toward an opposing Chaser.

This is what she's always wanted. All the hard work, all the time spent practicing, all the sacrifices have all led up to this moment. Her brother had scoffed, insisting that twenty-one is an important age (maybe in America, but not here) and she ought to spend her birthday at home. She had refused, of course. She will have plenty more birthdays. But this? There's no promise that she will find herself here again.

Adrenaline floods her veins as she soars through the air, excitement quickening her heartbeat. She's so blinded by her excitement that she doesn't see the Bludger until it's too late and the world fades to black.

…

Roxanne groans as she opens her eyes. "What time is it?" She sits up, looking around and immediately recognizes the infirmary station every Quidditch pitch has. She scowls. "How long was I out, and did we win?"

Her parents are there, as is Freddy. Her brother just fixes her with _that _look. "This is why you should listen to me," he says with a triumphant told-you-so tone.

"No one likes a smartarse," their mother says, though she smiles at Freddy.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Roxanne asks dryly. "The bloody finals. Like I was going to miss it."

How many people are lucky enough to have jobs they genuinely enjoy? Roxanne would sooner dress in a meat suit and jump into a dragon enclosure before missing this opportunity.

"And now you're in the infirmary at the finals," her father says. "Hell of a way to end your birthday."

"Speaking of!" Freddy practically bounces on the balls of his feet as he lifts their mother's rose-colored purse. He retrieves a small cake, lined with Cauldron Cakes, with a Chocolate Frog in the center. "Now that we know you aren't dying on your birthday…"

Roxanne should be more excited about this, but her mind is only on the match. "Did we win?"

Her father snorts. "You sure she isn't Oliver's?" he teases, earning a playful swat.

"Match is still going," Freddy says. "90-30, Falcons."

Roxanne starts to get out of bed, but her mother freezes her with a look. "No ma'am. You just took a Bludger to the head. You are resting until you've been cleared to leave."

"But, Mum!"

"Some reach for the stars," her dad says. "Some push others toward them. But today, we need to forget the stars, okay? There will be other matches. For now, let's enjoy the moment."

She sighs. Maybe he's right. Even if she's fit to get back on a broom, Miriam is a worrywort. She doesn't allow injured players to return to the match.

"Can we at least get back in the stands?" she asks. "Even if I can't be out there, I can still cheer them on."

"Only if we can bring the cake," Freddy says.


	98. Make It Through (Colin&Dennis)

_Word Count:_ 562

* * *

Colin's teeth chatter as he reaches the campsite, his arms weighed down with more firewood. "You need more layers," he says, watching as Dennis struggles to put on a third pair of socks.

His little brother snorts and looks up. "Was there ever a time you weren't the boss of me?" he asks, his voice light and teasing

Colin just laughs because that's all he can really do. If he shows Dennis how worried he really is, his brother would panic. So Colin does what he can because it's the only way they can survive.

He looks around. Snow covers the area in a thick white blanket. He wishes he could do magic without the Trace. If he could, he would feel a lot more confident about their chances of making it through. Limited to only Muggle resources when the temperature is below freezing… It scares him more than he will ever admit.

"I am the one thing in life I can control," he reminds himself under his breath.

Colin sets the wood down before feeding a few limbs to the fire. He remembers camping when he was younger, before his mum died. Those had been fun days, filled with laughter. They hadn't needed to worry about whether or not they would make it through.

Dennis shoves his feet into a pair of boots they had stolen four towns ago. He puts on another coat, then drapes a blanket around his shoulders. It breaks Colin's heart. He should have thought this through; he should have found a way to keep his little brother safe and hidden.

"You shouldn't be here," Colin says with a heavy sigh.

"Where else am I gonna be, Col?" Dennis asks brightly.

This new world has not broken Dennis' spirit. Colin is grateful for that. Even stranded out here, so far away from their comforts, from familiarity, Dennis still smiles like it's just a silly game, some run adventure.

Colin shakes his head. "Never mind. Get some rest, yeah? I'll take first watch."

"I'm gonna dream of home," Dennis tells him before stretching out on the ground, the heat of the fire washing over him.

Colin watches his brother in silence for several moments. His flicker toward the sky. The stars twinkle overhead. He wonders if Ginny is at Hogwarts now, if she's still doing Astronomy. He thinks it might Monday, which means she would be at the Astronomy Tower, staring up through her telescope. Or maybe she's looking at the same stars through the window in her dormitory.

His chest aches at the thought. He misses his old life and the days when he didn't have to run for his life, when every move he made wasn't a matter of life and death.

He pulls out a roll of parchment. Over the past few months, he's written letter after letter to the people he's left behind. Maybe he'll send them when this is all over. Maybe he'll include the photographs of his time on the run, and he'll tell stories about the times he narrowly escaped death and the times he and Dennis found rare moments of peace in the middle of this mess.

Colin shivers and adjusts his coat. He doesn't think he wants to write tonight. For now, he just wants to focus on making it through.

There will time for letters when this ends.


	99. Abomination (RegBarty)

_Word Count: 1019_

_Note: angel and demon!au_

* * *

_What a beautiful day, _Barty thinks, folding his golden wings around his body. Below, he can see the earth. The sun is shining so brightly, and it is just so beautiful.

He shakes his head as though the movement can force the thought from his mind. Why should it matter if the world is beautiful? He is an angel, a being who does not have free will the way those happy-go-lucky humans do.

This is all Regulus' fault. If not for the demon, he wouldn't be here on the edge, so ready to fall.

…

_Barty, despite being an angel, is not particularly graceful. He falls and collides with the ground. Someone laughs, and he jumps to his feet, pulling out his seraph blade, prepared to strike._

_The man just grins down at him. To the untrained eye, he might look like a human, but Barty has Angelic Sight. He can see the onyx markings across the man's skin. "Demon," he spits. _

_Another laugh. The demon waves away the blade dismissively. "Put that thing away before you hurt yourself," he snorts._

_Barty doesn't back down. He holds his head high, gripping the blade. "You are an abomination."_

_A handsome abomination, but an abomination nonetheless._

_"You really think you can take me? Scrappy little thing, aren't you?" The demon studies him silently. "Don't flatter yourself, mate. What's your name?"_

_"Bartemius," Barty answers because his father is revered, because his father is a renowned demon slayer. That name should strike fear in the hearts of those who hear it._

_"What a stupid name. I'll call you Barty. My name is Regulus."_

_"I'll kill you," Barty tells him._

_Regulus just smirks. "I'd like to see you try."_

…

He doesn't know what he's doing here. Not really. He wishes he did. It would make things so much easier if he had all the answers.

But he isn't all-knowing. He isn't the great Albus, the commander of the heavenly host. He is just Barty, and he has to navigate this world, always alert, always so afraid that he might become ensnared in some great trip.

He thinks that might be the case now. Regulus has trapped him like a fly in a web.

Except that isn't quite true. Barty could have run, couldn't he? Just like now. He could still run. So why doesn't he?

…

_"Hello, Angel," Regulus says with a smirk. "Might I say your wings look quite extravagant. Did you do something different?"_

_Barty scowls. "Are you following me now? You have no business here."_

_"Oh, but I do. So many souls to damn, so little time," Regulus replies, his voice sweet as honey._

_"Go away. You will not touch a single soul in this city."_

_Regulus moves close, radiating arrogance. There's a look in his eyes that challenges Barty to try and stop him, a look that says he bows to no one. "Gonna stop me, are you?" His voice comes out as a low growl. "Come on, then. Try."_

_And Barty does. He is fast, but Regulus matches his speed easily enough. They are both just as strong, and neither seem to be able to get the upper hand._

_Not until Barty loses his footing. Regulus lands on top of him, straddling his waist with a triumphant grin. "So close, Angel," he says, leaning in. "What do I win?"_

_When Barty doesn't respond, Regulus just chuckles and captures his lips in a rough, bruising kiss. _

_They break away after several seconds. Regulus smirks as he climbs to his feet again. "Look at that. Not so pure anymore."_

_Barty sits up and examines himself. There, right where a human's heart would be, he sees onyx lines, just like the markings of a demon._

_"How dare you?" Barty demands, jumping to his feet._

_Regulus just smiles. "See you around, Barty."_

…

He doesn't know if there's even a point in staying. He is tainted now, corrupt. Sure, Barty could do penance and try to be absolved, but he isn't sure that anything will fix this.

Worse still, he doesn't know if he wants to be clean again.

…

_His father is angry. Barty is sure that ought to be a sin, but no one ever seems to care. They call it righteous anger, like Barty somehow deserves this wrath. _

_"You have some nerve bringing that filthy mark into this realm!"_

_Barty shakes his head. "Father…"_

_His father strikes him hard across the face. Righteous anger. The fury of a soldier, of God's chosen. Barty is meant to just accept it, to be grateful his father is dealing with it himself._

_"You are disgusting!"_

_Barty should apologize. Instead, he holds his head high. "I feel euphoric."_

_"Enough gibberish. Renounce your sins."_

_"No."_

_"You dare to defy me?" his father asks, glitterings flapping angrily. _

_"You are not my master," Barty snaps. "It does not matter if I defy you."_

_Another slap, harder now. It stings and burns, but Barty does not back down. Regulus has emboldened him, he thinks. "Repent!"_

_There's more to life than this. He's always thought demons had it all wrong, but he isn't so sure now. Demons are free. Demons have a future, a choice. What do angels have? Morality? It's almost laughable now. _

_"No, Father. I don't think I will."_

…

Barty moves closer to the edge, and he drops.

Pain like he has never felt grips his body. His wings twist, becoming broken, pitiful things. His skin burns, and he knows what he will see when he crashes. All of the Fallen are identified by the onyx markings on their bodies.

He screams as he crashes, but there is something comforting about the feeling. With a groan, Barty sits up. Regulus is there, grinning.

"So, you did it."

"I'm broken," Barty whispers.

Regulus sits beside him, gripping his hand. "Things break," he tells Barty, "but they can still grow."

Barty looks at him. His handsome abomination. The twisted, vile thing that made him want to fall.

He kisses Regulus, and it feels so right. Smiling into the kiss, he almost wishes he had done this sooner.


	100. The Path to Freedom (Phoebe Black)

_Survival Skills, task 2: someone making a change in their life _

_Word Count: 790_

_Warnings: outdated gender roles, misgendering_

_A note on pronouns: In keeping with both the time and Phoebe's upbringing, Phoebe continues to use she/her despite being a trans man._

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Phoebe freezes at the sound of her brother's voice. She tries to find some comfort in the fact that it's Licorus who has caught her, rather than her parents. Still, Licorus is their father's golden boy, the good son; he is hardly an ally in this oppressive house.

Worse still, Phoebe knows that she cannot charm her brother the way she does her parents, especially with the outfit she's wearing now. She had worn a gown to bed, only to change into trousers and a tailored shirt the moment she was certain everyone was in bed. The clothes— _men's clothes, _her mother would call them— only confirm her betrayal and the _otherness _she has tried so desperately to hide from her family.

"I cannot stay in this house a moment longer," she says, and she stands a little straighter and squares her shoulders. It's a posture she's seen at Hogwarts. Boys hold themselves a certain way to assert their authority. It comes so easily to her now, like she's always meant to be like this. "It isn't a good place for me."

Licorus steps forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his foot. The sound makes his eyes widen, and they both freeze, tense and afraid, listening for the tell-tale sounds of their parents stirring. The concern in his dark eyes tells her all she needs to know. Licorus _is _a friend. It makes her wonder if he's like her, just playing a role to make their family happy, lest they suffer the same fate as Eduardus.

"Where will you go, Phoebe? You're a girl."

She scowls, cursing the organ between her legs for defining who she's meant to be. It's all an illusion. Though she has wide hips— good for producing heirs— and delicate features, she is not a girl. No matter what her family says. No matter how feminine she is forced to be. No matter how many men look at her and dream of making her their wife.

It's something she has felt for so long, though she has never dared to voice it aloud, except to Moira. Who would understand? Certainly not her mother, who dresses Phoebe up and shows her off. Not her father, who sees Phoebe as a bargaining chip, a way to secure an alliance with a powerful family.

"That isn't true," she tells him, her throat constricting. She hates the way her voice trembles, betraying her emotions. Men are meant to be strong, but she doesn't feel particularly strong now. "I… I am a man, Licorus."

There's a strange tension in his shoulders. Licorus pushes a hand through his dark curls, frowning. She wonders if he believes her, if he somehow understands that she isn't crazy. Alexia had been insane; Phoebe has her wits about her, and her mind is sharp. She knows who she is, even if others cannot see it.

"Sister, please."

The word hurts, and she flinches as though he has physically struck her. She shakes her head. Of course he doesn't understand.

"You may think you're a man," Licorus says, taking a step closer, reaching out a hand; Phoebe steps back, glaring at him. "Perhaps you are. Who's to say? But look at us. Look at our family. We don't get to control our lives. We must do what is expected of us."

It's what she's been told her whole life. From the moment she could walk and talk, her parents have taught her their ways, shaping her into the perfect daughter. Reputation is everything, and what would happen if she shattered the image her family has so carefully crafted?

"I'm sorry," she says. "It's time for a change."

She cannot live her life for them. Try as she might, it leaves her feeling stuck, like she can't breathe. Only when she is with Moira and living her life as her true self does she feel like everything will be okay.

"Phoebe…"

Without a word, she turns on her heel and descends the staircase. Each step feels like a new weight lifting. As she nears the door, she knows this is the right choice. This is the path to freedom, and she will take it.

Moira is waiting for her outside, anxiously bouncing on the balls of her feet. When she sees Phoebe, her golden-brown eyes light up, and she smiles. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me," she says, holding out her hand.

Phoebe happily accepts it, pulling her lover closer and pressing a kiss to Moira's cheek. "Forget about you?" she scoffs. "Never."

This is a new beginning, and she isn't sure what will come of it. All she knows is that she needs this, and at least she is free.


	101. Fitting In (Kingsley and Tonks)

_Word Count: 450_

* * *

Tonks' cheeks are almost as pink as her hair when she stomps into the office, scowling. "One day. Just one normal bloody day! Is that too much to ask for?" she grumbles before dramatically throwing herself onto her chair.

Kingsley watches for a moment, laughing softly to himself. He remembers his first few months as an Auror. It had been wild and strange, and he had been worried he wasn't cut out for it. Sometimes, he had considered quitting and learning to make broomsticks like his father. In the end, he had been glad he stuck around. The Auror life isn't always easy, but, in his opinion, it's the best path, and he can't imagine life anywhere else.

After a few minutes pass, he climbs to his feet and makes his way over to where Tonks sits. No one else seems concerned by her outburst. Over time, it's easy to just get used to things and accept that the only sense of normalcy comes from nothing being normal.

There's a bright blue stain on her cream-colored shirt, and Kingsley notices the way it still sizzles and steams.

"Do I even want to ask?" He raises his brows, offering her a smile.

Tonks scowls, noticing the condition her shirt is still in. Without any explanation, she pulls it off, and Kingsley quickly looks away. His modesty seems to amuse her. "Oh, for crying out loud, Shacklebolt," she says with a laugh. "I have a tank top on underneath."

He glances back. "Sorry. I'm just… not used to… er…"

He doesn't know how to finish his sentence. Tonks is special in a way that he cannot explain. He remembers the day she finished her training. Moody had sworn up and down that she was the future of their department. Kingsley had laughed it off, but now he can see it. Tonks is something else. She brightens the office and makes it feel less like work.

"Honesty, Shacklebolt, how are you so eloquent? It will be a miracle if I can learn to speak like you," she teases.

All the tensions seem to be forgotten. Kingsley shrugs. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You seemed stressed."

Her eyes brighten, glittering with amusement. She shrugs and makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Aren't we all stressed?"

"Fair dues." Kingsley folds his arms over his chest, studying her for a moment longer. There's still a sense of otherness to her. Tonks doesn't really fit in. "Look, Dawlish and I were going to the Leaky Cauldron after our shift. Wanna come along?"

Tonks grins. "Bet I can outdrink you."

He snorts, shaking his head. "Is that a yes?"

"Of course. See you there."


	102. Deserving (Perciver)

_Word Count: 522_

* * *

He can't take it anymore. The guilt has been tearing him apart, and it has only gotten worse. Percy hangs his head, the shame washing over him and souring his insides. He's been a fool, a bloody fool.

When had it fallen apart?

Walking away from his family had been easy. He had left, so sure that his dreams would be enough to guide him. It _should _have been enough. Maybe, in a different life, it would have been.

But things aren't so simple anymore. Percy has tried again and again to bury his head, but what's the use? He cannot keep denying what's right in front of him.

And now he doesn't know what to do. Part of him wants to go home. His mother would welcome him back with open arms. His parents have always been filled with endless, unconditional love.

But he can't. It would be too much.

Now there's only one person he needs to see, one person who can take the pain away.

Oliver opens the door, brows raising. "Perce?"

It has been too long. Percy tries not to focus on that guilt now. He just offers Oliver an uncertain smile. "I know, I know. You're probably thinking, 'Clean up your own mess.'"

"Actually, I was going to invite you in for some hot chocolate."

…

Oliver has always been better than Percy could ever deserve. Maybe that's why it had been so easy to walk away from their relationship. He would tell himself again and again that Oliver deserves better.

Even now, when Oliver owes him nothing, Oliver is there, smiling as he sets the mug of hot chocolate in front of Percy.

"The secret is the cinnamon," Oliver says.

"Well, it isn't a secret anymore, is it?" Percy teases.

It's so easy to fall back into who they once were. Percy never stopped loving him. He wonders if Oliver feels the same.

"What's going on?"

Percy opens his mouth to speak, but the words don't come out. He takes a deep breath. How can he explain it? He doesn't want Oliver to think poorly of him.

But there's no time. The truth falls from his lips. The pain, the vulnerability, the fear, the shame. Before it's all said and done, his tears are mixing into his hot chocolate.

Percy sniffles, removing his glasses and wiping his eyes. "I'm an idiot."

"No. You just made mistakes," Oliver says kindly.

Percy isn't sure when Oliver moved so close to him, or why his hand is on Percy's. It feels nice. Too nice. Nicer than he deserves, and it makes him want to run.

He doesn't. Maybe things would be easier if he hadn't been so quick to run before.

"I don't know what to do," Percy admits, and it hurts to say.

Isn't he supposed to be the one with all the answers? Oh, how he's fallen.

"That's okay." Oliver presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "We'll figure it out. Together."

The word makes his stomach flutter. Percy still wants to protest, but he just nods. Maybe there's hope for him. Maybe he will be okay.


	103. Chocolate Cake and Grief (Hermione)

_Word Count: 748_

* * *

_"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Hermione asks, brows raising as she folds her arms over her chest._

_Ron doesn't even bother to look guilty or ashamed. More likely than not, he doesn't see anything strange about a slice of leftover cake at seven in the morning. "In this house," he tells her, grinning so brightly that the corners of his eyes crease, "we have chocolate cake for breakfast."_

_"We most certainly do not, Ronald! It's bad for your teeth."_

_"It's bad for your teeth at night," he counters, and he looks so pleased with himself._

_Hermione thinks that maybe it's best not to argue with his logic. "Just a small slice," she says, and she promises herself it won't count if she stops by for a proper breakfast on her way to work._

…

Hermione puts the dishes away, and it breaks her heart. Three sets of dishes, one for her and each of her children. Only last month, there was a fourth.

"Mum!" Rose calls, appearing in the doorway. "Mum, Hugo took my lucky quill!"

"Did not!" Hugo yells, appearing behind his sister. He's already a head taller, gangly like his father.

It's just another stab of pain. "Hugo, give your sister her quill back."

"But I don't have it!"

"Yes, he does! Give it back, or I swear I will hurt you!"

"Hey! Do not threaten your brother," Hermione says firmly. "Both of you, to your rooms. _Now!_"

They know that tone. Neither argue. They just mutter their compliance under their breath and stalk off.

She sighs and closes her eyes. "What am I even doing?"

…

_It's a windy day. The cool air feels good on her skin. Ordinarily, Hermione would be able to relax. But not today. Her mind is so cluttered, and she doesn't know how to process it all._

_The words just fall out. "I'm pregnant."_

_She had planned to tell Ron over dinner, after she'd had plenty of time to get her words together. Now, it's out there, and she is shivering, and she knows it has nothing to do with the chill of the wind._

_Ron wraps an arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm… Wow." He laughs. "We're having a baby."_

_"I'm scared," she admits._

_Ron is better with kids than she is. She's seen the way he is with his nieces; it just comes so naturally to him. But Hermione? She knows how to look after children, but she is hardly maternal._

_"You're gonna be brilliant," he assures her, kissing her nose. "You've never met a problem you couldn't solve."_

…

Tears fall from Hermione's eyes, and she lets out anguished wail. Ron had always had so much faith in her. She hadn't deserved it at all. Look at her now. He's gone, and she has been left behind to pick up the pieces, but she keeps breaking.

She wonders if she will ever feel normal again. Everyone says she will, but she doubts it. Andromeda still hasn't quite recovered; she's simply learned to live with the pain.

With trembling hands, she wipes her eyes, sniffling. "Look at me," she whispers. "How useless."

Except Ron wouldn't have called her useless. He would have had the perfect solution, some silly little notion Hermione never would have considered.

…

_When an Auror dies on the job, the Minister comes to visit. The day Kingsley appears at her door in the middle of the afternoon, Hermione knows her world is crashing._

_He catches her when she collapses, making soothing sounds as she sobs and screams._

_"I'm required to give you this," he tells her, pulling out a letter from his pocket. "I know it doesn't help, but your husband was a brave man."_

_"One of the bravest," Hernione agrees._

_"I'll put the kettle on."_

…

Hermione picks herself up. Ron wouldn't want her to break like this. He would find a way to bring a little joy back into the world.

"Kids!" she calls. "Kids, come here!"

A moment later, Hugo skids to a stop in the kitchen. Rose follows soon after, looking particularly irritated. Hermione hasn't been particularly attentive to their needs as well. That's one more thing to feel awful about.

Except that isn't the solution. She won't fix anything by moping around, feeling sorry for herself. If she wants to honor her husband's memory, the best thing she can do is carry on.

"How do you two feel about chocolate cake for lunch?" Hermione asks.


	104. Learning As We Go (Kingsley)

_Word Count: 701_

* * *

If he's honest, Kingsley doesn't want to be here. Since the final battle, he's been acting as Minister, and he has seen so much. He isn't sure he will ever be able to sleep again without seeing crying families mourning their fallen loved ones. How many hands has he held? How many comforting words have fallen from his lips?

He's exhausted, but he has a job to do. Tonight, that job takes the form of attending a ball. If he looks happy, maybe others will start to feel it too. Kingsley hates it. Let people mourn and grieve as they need to.

Still, it seems to help. There's an air of relaxation that Kingsley hasn't felt since before the war. People are laughing and smiling, the aura of hope is so strong that he can feel it on his skin as he makes his way along, dressed in his nicest robes, smiling and chatting as he needs.

"Shacklebolt!" Dawlish calls, making his way over, grinning broadly. "Good to see you, mate!"

Kingsley is more grateful than he can ever say. Too many people simply call him _Minister, _as though that's all he is now. He's glad for the normalcy and familiarity.

"Look at you! Looking good, eh?"

"Good to see you, John," Kingsley chuckles.

"We've got to do lunch this week, mate. Look at you, all official and whatnot. Can't be bothered with the Aurors."

"How much have you had to drink?"

John waves a dismissive hand. "Not enough."

There's a sadness in his voice that Kingsley understands. _Amelia. _He wonders if a night passes where John doesn't try to drink away her memory.

A moment passes, and John clears his throat. "Right. Well, congrats again, Shacklebolt. You're doing a damn fine job," he says, offering Kingsley a salute before turning on his heel.

Kingsley is left feeling heavy again. No one and nothing have been left untouched and unblemished by this war. There's still so much pain at every turn. A ball to celebrate the victory cannot mask that.

"You are horribly low on champagne! Might need another case. Oh, what about butterbeer? That seems to be a favorite tonight. Looking for comfort, bless."

The familiar voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he follows it, chuckling to himself. Rosmerta is terrorizing the catering staff. He takes the opportunity to approach her.

"If I remember correctly," Kingsley says, folding his arms over his chest, "you are a guest tonight, not a caterer."

Rosemerta turns to him, smoothing her hands over her lilac gown. "Yes, well, I'm sure you know better than anyone that sometimes you take your work with you."

Kingsley flinches at that. There have been too many nights when Rosmerta would open the pub for him after it had closed. She had listened and fixed him a drink as needed, though she always made sure he didn't consume enough to drown.

"Sorry. That was a bit… blunt," Rosmerta says softly. She grabs two glasses of wine and hands one to Kingsley. "Forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive. You know I appreciate you for being so straightforward," he says, lifting his glass. "A toast?"

"To healing," she says.

"To the people who help us along the way," he agrees, clinking his glass against hers.

"For what it's worth, I think you're doing great," she says, offering him a soft smile.

Sometimes that's all he needs. Having it come from someone who is sincere and not trying to tell him what he wants to hear makes all the difference in the world. Rosmerta is too much of a Ravenclaw to waste words; she prefers to speak the truth, and to keep it brief.

Kingsley still isn't sure what he's doing. No one left instructions on how to keep all of wizarding Britain running smoothly. Cornelius has visited him twice, and his only words of wisdom have been _"Don't be like me, dear Shacklebolt.", _which is hardly helpful at all.

But then there are days when he feels like he's going to be okay. They truly are all in this together. He's still figuring it out, but maybe it's enough. Maybe he can teach them to make it through.


End file.
